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What a game ...
he was just a jester,
and this a ghastly prospect ...

The ground lay torn open before him,
a wound in the earth that called to his dark heart,
pulled on his better judgement like lead ...
warm, that shadowy keep ... warm and peaceful,
if but a plunge away ...

He turned back around to the game board,
it's alternate squares dancing ... monochromatic
patchwork of fealty and fate, with just
seven solid forms left atop it ... only two were his,
King and Pawn ...

Hopeless barter for the formidable Whites -
King, Knight, Rook, Pawn, and yes, the opposing
Queen - he was bound on all sides,
with but one last rattling gasp due ... unless ...
he looked back at the crevasse ...

The torn black gape smiling at him ...
whispering, tender: "All is lost, give yourself to
the grim dispassion, soft and irenic,
that which waits ... rest ... yes, tranquil rest ...
and deep, deep abiding sleep" ...

Death waited on both sides like cold
bookends ... though the gash in the ground offered
serene and painless silence, (and the
expunging of all his misdeeds), not so, the black-winged
specter he faced in strategy ...

That end would be assuredly excruciating.
He looked once more to the black, fathomless abyss ...
reaching back with one leg, (as if to dip
his toes in a puddle, dark), he drew up to the board
and made his penultimate move ...

The sacrifice had worked, you see ...
and in his rush to take the Black Majesty, Death had been
hastily negligent, committing one very careless act ...
the jester moved his pawn to crown it ... the final move
was not required - "sauce for the goose" ...

Death trembled in rage, put his head back
and screamed at the sky, (as if heaven cared a wit for his
haughty displeasure) ... he looked at the
jester briefly, a snarl curling his lip, and wagged his index finger ...
transforming it to a feather as he did ...

The rest of his body followed suit, as he
slowly came to his full, hideous form - a raven, so black
that it devoured the light around it,
and brought a frost to the air and ground nearby ... the jester
shivered in his spine, watching ...

Like a scraggly old man, the now immense bird
shuffled and scraped its crooked talons to the chess board,
knocked over its remaining pieces in defeat ...
and flew into the yawning fissure, swallowed by the coal
black earth that closed in behind it ...

Breathing a sigh of relief ...
the jester watched, transfixed, as there, in the dark
soil and ash that had filled the
ragged hole, up popped a tiny green sprout ...
of new life.





~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Clown At The Abyss" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Oh What The Hell - Just Toss One In" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
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