Sunday, December 11, 2011

The Stalemate

Echoes plummeting from the peaks.
Dancing. Marching. Haunting streets 

With dark intentions, Night steals over Day
Cloaking light in His own way.
Transformed by the death of Dawn,
The Queen is dead, killed by the Pawn.

Voices murmuring amid the dark.
Raindropped statues in the park. 

And though the mystery doth prevail,
The path of morn' awaits to sail.
While moonlight lingers carefree,
Ringing chimes in the upper belfry.

Waves ebbing, breakers roll.
Crashing white. Overwhelming seamen's souls.

The wrath of Night cannot sleep,
Like coral castles in the deep.
The hush is loud, the tone is rough.
Crying sadly, "It is enough."

Leaves twisting, twirling past.
Singing. Sighing. Riding fast.

Midnight's come, and Midnight's gone,
The Phantom dances on the lawn.
The darkest point is coming soon,
And with it's passing, a lighter tune.

Piano music drifting out,
Down the alley, from the flat.

Human melody creates a hold,
Warming a Night turned burning cold.
The window lights shine faintly ill
Like some eyes unblinking still. 

Ancient creaks breaking silence.
Cavernous shadows. Geological science.            

Musty wind shudders with a wail
It knows the Queen will again prevail
She’ll come in time to reclaim
All that was Hers, which Night took away.

Wheat fields drifting 'neath the moon.
Watching. Waiting. Falling soon. 

Shadows crawl across the lands,
Misting acres with their hands.
Dew is setting into sleep;
The harvest readying to be reaped.

Ruins dying in desert lands. 
Crumbling obelisks in star-kissed sands. 

Amber skies are waking
Morning burns, light is breaking
Time yawns, Night’s day is ending
The Pawn retreats, with demise pending

Street lamps burning in the yards.
Flickering. Floating. Lighted shards.

The Queen awakens, holding Dawn.
The world waves goodbye to a broken Pawn.
Night is dead, and Day’s alive.
The board’s reset, and so life strives.

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