Game of Kings by Jason Deiss

Tiled floor,

Onyx, marble,

dancers take their places.

Traditions,

older than the floor,

dance

as old as music,

played again.

 

Slow starts,

each step rehearsed.

Dancers find their spots,

moving to silent music

the masters hear.

Each dance diverges,

its own paths to follow.

 

Safe in corners, lords watch,

waiting their turns on the floor.

Acrobats abound,

haphazard leaps straining

graceful positions.

 

Monks, simpler men,

step with purpose

to distant views.

Soldiers,

never breaking rank and file,

precisely marching their orders.

 

Tension builds,

steps slow,

careful not to stumble.

Something snaps,

unheard discourse,

a cue to break step.

Two trip, knocking together,

escorted off.

 

Balance shifts,

chaotic orchestrations

meeting

on the floor.

 

Triumphant chords,

ladies join, reaping discord

they deigned to sow.

Achingly, the floor clears,

dust settles

on open space.

 

The time has come,

rulers sauntering from thrones.

Arm in arm,

mistresses leave the floor,

abandoning husbands and servants

to prance.

 

A dream realized,

authority extended, nobility attained.

Newfound power,

declaration,

the end of the dance.

“Checkmate.”

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Categories: Issue 1 - Fall 2011, Periodicals, Poetry | Leave a comment

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