My fingers freeze in this starry night breeze.
His sneeze is the only cease in the concentrative quiet piece.

The pieces laid out as checkers,
the game a round of snickers.
But the babies come as rippers,
a piece in a stack of glitters.

My vision turns red,
even on those my bred.

One hour to the new,
The entire crew
ready for the stew.

The drums roar.
The hearts thunder.
And for a moment-

The world is sonder.

A piece, a thought, a game.
All pointless bring to shame.
And only I am to blame.

© mayuri