Grandest of Games

Checkmate

Said the jester to his king

A grand feast follows

Arsenic it’s seasoning

 

When you see your life in a broken mirror

It is Terminal

Terminal velocity

When dreams plummet to the ground

 

Bearing witness

Is a fool’s game

 

I am the master of all I survey

The blind man says

As the deaf man listens intently

The thought is always what counts

 

Puppet masters

With sundered strings

As invisible wires

String them up by their soul

 

To come this far

Only to collapse now

Finish line in sight

Matters not when your breathing wanes

 

Sane men

Playing the games of fools

Betting the small trifle

The lives of others

 

Lost causes and foolhardy ventures

When all you have in defense

Are blunted spears

And perforated shields

 

To bet what you never had

To gamble what can never be held

 

When light fills the glass house

When the wolves draw near

When you are pawn and not player

These tragedies write themselves

 

 

 

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