At the arcade, translated…
a game that children AND adults loved to play, not my photo here…
Getting Hit on the Head is Merely
Using a Hammer, to Beat Out the Rest
There’s No Need to Warn the Rest by Killing One, the Moles Lived
And I’d Survived as Well, Used My Mortal Strengths, Draining Out
And, There Are, More Enemies Coming Towards Me
Bouncing Up & Down, without Any Extra Emotions
They Can Hide Temporarily, But Couldn’t
the hammer’s way too big, but you stsill can’t help, but try to attempt the impossible feat!!! not my photo.
Find Safety Forever Inside that Dark Abysmal Black Hole
You Can’t Hit the Holes as Warning to Entice Something to Come Out of Another Hole
The Plastic Moles Popped Up & Smiled
It’d Made My Worries Go Up and Down
The Multi-Layered, the Things I Can’t Demolish
Is Each and Every One of Past Selves of Me
Deep Down Inside My Mind Sharing that Same Shadow
ready, set, H-I-T!!! Not my photo…
And, Duplicated on Its Own
The Truth Became Hard to Find, Just Hit the Moles as Hard as I Can Until the Crowd Dissipated
The Arcade Shop Turned Out the Lights
And Those Holes Lying All Over the Game Boards
Passed Through the Space & Time in the Darkness, Reconnected the Sense of Connectedness
The Next Random, But Virtually Real Game of Life….
So, this, is what one can get, out of playing that game of whack-a-mole, and in this poem, the whack-a-mole became MORE than just a way to express one’s feelings outward, it became something even MORE philosophical, and, who could’ve imagined, that you can get so much MORE out of an arcade game other than just releasing ALL your excess energies, right???
Life, the Obstacle Course 