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Playing Games MAG
I'm sitting here behind this chessboard
With you staring at me from the other side,
Your eyes bouncing off of the different
colored squares
Straight back into mine,
Waiting for the flinch of my hand to
reposition my pawn,
Yet I cannot tell if your sword is drawn.
So, I'll continue to sit on my side to ponder its measly path,
As well as wondering if I shall end up in an untimely blood bath.
Now, I've taken a stab at this game before,
But the game changed when you first stepped foot through that door.
And I now sit here, newly shaken with fear,
All because of a worthy opponent such as you, my dear;
Which I cannot seem to understand,
Since I've always had the upper hand
In situations like this,
Yet, I've never come across an adversary
so submiss.
The way you play this game has me at
such a loss,
That my only option to continue playing is
a precarious toss
Of a coin to determine the fate of who will win this game;
Confident, conjoined strides, or dual walks of shame?
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