mate


not necessarily immortal
but still, you are the queen;
commanding your army
like a stringless puppeteer,
pushing every fledging pawn
down my coughing throat,
crumbling my fortress
as a wave destroys a castle of sand.
and though we're not of equal strength
and we play on different vectors;
and though you are the enemy
and will eventually dethrone me,
i would march across the board
in single, proud and dancing steps
just to touch your hand
as i resign.

© Mark E. Dougherty