The Victor, the Vanquisher

Through ornate halls of half torn damask,
you run from room to room
pursuing a ghost
whose body no longer
fends for your side
of the chessboard.

Her glow
used to bedazzle
the mirrors
Baroque chandeliers—
gone grey,
reflecting the
beauty of glass
even in a furnished realm of utter disarray.

When she tried to get closer,
you shoved her away,
then locked her up like a lantern
and let love diminish, yet stain
every carpet your house holds dear
to this very day.

But what you didn’t know
was that her heart
couldn’t be
behind four-sided picture frame jewels
because she was royal soul
by the laws of nature
she is the plague—
haunting each movement you make
while your head spins off its axle regardless.

Old desires of hers
that were once cloaked
out of sight,
attempt to flee alive
down the stairs;
past the window pain,
the glorious doors look as if they’re
ready to pry open wide.

Although before she goes,
she’ll knock over knights in shining armor
among checkered squares,
and pulsate towards the throne
since now more than ever
this checkmate will her solidify her victory;
as she changes the future of the game,
standing on her own.


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