Through his
pale eyes he watched the setting sun
He
remembered his own sunshine and twilight hours
How he used
to manipulate minds for fun
And toy with
the person in the seat of power
The audiences
of the cacophonic power riddle
Would see
him content playing second fiddle
But only the
handful whose ears were honed
Could recognise
that he was setting the tone
Growing up
learning never to easily believe
Always ready
with another trick up his sleeve
So wily that
many a brilliant stand
Came nowhere
close to forcing his hand
Reveling in
the role of the puppet master
Crafting
everything from dreams to disaster
Tentacles
crawling into every vacant space
Fingers fidgeting
at a frenetic pace
But there
was one frayed thread he chose to ignore
It snapped
and suddenly, tensions began to soar
Not cautious
enough to fill the tiniest gaps
They united
and pointed to an imminent collapse
He now
looked set to lose the game of the throne
The puppet
master was strangled by strings of his own
His days of
toppling crowns are now long gone
He sits in
the cellar; only his tales live on
Lying in a
corner, he waits for the dawn
Still
hoping to find another well-positioned pawn 