Podium of ice

A label stuck on my chest, plated in gold

Reads my name on it, printed in bold.

Yes, I stand here and I am the winner,

Underneath me stands the world, the so called loser.

It’s a buyout and it’s a sale.

A ruthless trade of world so pale.

The merchandise even sold death at sanctum

But nothing could buy a life at any premium.

A specific fun was the battle of guns,

Lethal fire of arms, without a sound

I exchanged the mental games with many,

The wars ended with winners,

Losers died or ran with their shoes wary.

Such was the path to fame,

Something to blame or is it just a game.

Those who played it without the fear

If nothing, at the end had their eyes very clear.

Defeat was unknown and I became ruler,

Won every race and felt immortal.

Cemeteries were the steps for me,

In the competition to reach the top.

When I reached there I was left to wonder,

What were all those graves for?

Was that fiery kill just for this cold thrill?

Can I stay here for any length on my own will?

An eternal pale white surrounding me,

Underneath my feet it started melting.

I couldn’t stand it nor could I run

The cold inside, lit me to burn.

Was it a superfluous desire or a blatant cliché.

The end had to be a cold sellout with the buyer to burn.

As I realized I reached the summit,

That sold so many deaths, to buy a life

Win was a misnomer and life, miss-spelt

There was nothing but that cold touch,

I knew I stood on the Podium of ice.