The fear of losing the game
looms large.
It were you, I wanted
to win.

For a gender neutral
god, you will need a wooden
high priest to invoke
the eternal peace.

More likely it was a moist
patch to relieve the
ache and blue pains
of deadly sting.

The paragon cedes
and suffers dragging the truth
and duplicate becomes
an icon.

You shake hands
with arrogant time and
return to songbirds.