The King is Dead!
By: Twinkle Varshney
Tags: Poetry In Form, Poetry Writing, Poetry, Poetry On Medium, Poetry Sunday

The King is Dead! Long Live the Queen!







Surrounded by a sea of sorrows, he is shipwrecked on a lonely island of her memories.



He walks her island every day and more at night...



Barefoot, he feels every fine pebble of her warm, delicious sand caressing the most intimate recollection of her perfume.



He searches for her at every corner of this island, but her silhouette escapes to the past. He takes a long walk into the deepest of his mind and there, he argues with yesterday, as today retorts and tomorrow just listens.



As he goes to and fro in alternate realities, he suddenly returns to the moment. Weak now with exertion, he falls past the sand on her beach and onto the carpet of his living room. He’s on all four now (to and fro), mimicking the table with their unfinished chess game on top.



To and fro. He stares into the bright glow of the Sun...only interrupted by circling ravens as they signal for the dark knight. The galloping hooves of the pale rider now turn in his direction. The toxic winds from yesterday howl her name and deafen his will to survive. He fights like a gladiator to refuse fate, but there is no strength left in him!



She had taken the strongest of his will and put it in her pocket...along with her last words of hate. His kin at her side.



The inevitable is ready to keep the life promise she sold for a few comforts. Only a few more minutes standing in the way of the Gladiator and his eternity.



The king is on his knees upon her sands... his body is permeated with the pebbles of her essence and the only thing in his mind is her sweet face. The executioner’s shadow slowly rises from his exposed lower back and crawls to cover him completely. The golden circle is thrown before him (fro) on the carpet. Breached, broken...it no longer connects the circle.



The player takes the king and tumbles him on the board... imminent capture without his queen.



Like so many brave players before him, the king resigns the game of a lifetime at his queen’s failure to keep her words of adoration.



(to) The sword’s tip reflects a bright flash of the Sun against the pages of forever as it speeds down to crown a treacherous thing.



(fro) The dirty room is silent and dark. Suffocating! No oxygen, all ashtray. There is a small ray of sun punching its way through the dark curtains, but its fight slowly fades. The light enters the last round of the battle, but twilight lands a striking blow! The light is no more.



The last thing it lit was the crossbones...still on his left hand.



(to...and also fro)



The King is dead! Long live the Queen!







-Luiz (still King) Syphre







Once upon a game of hearts, there was a mighty paranoid king,



Crowned with crossbones of life, he conspired a war of black and white,



Concealed as a piteous pawn, he en passant his own blood and kin,



The terrifying tyrant castled with a rook, hiding behind desolate vacant knights,



With his horrendous heinous tactics, he hegemonies the battlefield,



He attacked, pinned, pillaged his own fortress, which with his life he promised to shield.







Crowned with crossbones of life, he conspired a war of black and white,



Strategies planned, moves intense, guarded leeway, nothing to weaken his defense,



Graves dug, tombstones of love and trust, the brute king was smiling with spite,



Sans repent, adorned in gleaming cape of manipulations and pretense,



He armored his weaknesses against toxic winds blown up from yesterday’s arguments,



And waxed his senses from petty so-called innocents, conspiring his twisted amusement.







Concealed as a piteous pawn, he en passant his own blood and kin,



Intoxicated with a demented desire to reign, he didn’t bother who gets slain,



A strategic attack skewers the blood, right moves, and the queen is pin,



He honed his blade, clattering and clanking with strain, he moved towards the center, slashing and slitting veins,



Snarling and squealing, with moves long and swift like a vengeful hare,



And his wounded ego bare, the King was a piece and the player.







The terrifying tyrant castled with a rook, hiding behind desolate vacant knights,



A quick scan of the field, he rummages through each face and sets his aim for the prize,



With eyes on Queen, he made his move, he didn’t care about wrong and right,



Piece by piece, he moved forward, fantasizing his fanatical sovereign rise,



He was a singular hive of hellhounds, he wouldn’t let himself lose,



He screamed, stamp and slash, smash and gash, weak plump for a truce.







With his horrendous heinous tactics, he hegemonies the battlefield,



The rooks had fallen, the knights were slain, the pawns were playing their own game,



The castles were splintered, but the queen stood bloodied, with a vow to shield,



There are no honest ploy to win or rules to follow when your love and enemy are the same,



Analyzing each piece, calculating outcomes, shifting queen cleverly to E1,



Un-swerved by collateral consequences, he is set to make his final move until his revenge is done.







He attacked, pinned, pillaged his own fortress, which with his life he promised to shield,



Broken crowns like broken hearts drenched the eight by eight with a bloodied sheen,



The mad king won’t let the queen resign, his ego would not accept the yield,



Forsaken honor, forgotten love, the mighty king flanked his own queen,



Check and mate, sealed the fate, she was thrown out of the ring,



Severed with her head! The Queen is Dead! Long Live the King!







-Twinks (Dead Queen) fly