Non je regrette rien

I woke up this morning unadorned,

Shorn of the vestments of fret and care,

I woke up to a lovely winter morning,

The fire in the hearth still ablaze.

My eyes gummed in sleep, breath misty,

Untangling my legs from the sheets and dreams,

I hopped down from my feathery bed,

To meet the cold stone floor of reality.

Brazen

In thy lofty snow-covered abode,

O Parents of the Universe,

You reside in domestic harmony,

Playing your lofty games of chance.

You have made the gaming GUI,

The NPC's and the storyline,

And have descended into it,

As a thousand googol Avatars.

Even as you roll the dice,

The players walk their diverse roads,

With choice and chance and strategy,

They build their own realities.

O Parents of the world, thou art

The moderators of all realities,

Although you have made us many rules,

Only one of them rules them all.

For reality is but a game,

Its sole object is blameless fun,

Amusement is its constitution,

And all its laws subordinate.

O Parents of the world, tell me,

How can I progress in this game?

I have level-grinded for an eternity,

Yet am devoid of quests or fun.

Tell me am I destined to be,

An Ekaterina or a Shankari,

Will I be an expression of your third eye?

Or the gentle glance of your serenity?