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I was the crouched, stone gargoyle,
whose intellect hung over the room.
Skillfully, but ingenuously
preparing my dark design;
never smiling,
only waiting.

Opposite me, a mere innocent,
child of my guidance,
angel at my feet;
a beguiled sacrifice.
A mortal casting futile lots
in doomed rebellion.

Creeping here then there, my mind sought new angles,
new perspectives
My mouth weaved webs

of feigned indifference,
fabrications,
fals e footholds.

From atop treacherous, cold rocks, an amber nectar
sweetened my craft.
Drinking in its dizzying confidence,
shamelessly
I flattered, twisted and
chuckled.

Under my direction a black army purged, reduced,
and eradicated.
Eliminating footing for all that was white and good;
pressing the cherub further
towards
a murky void
of my creation.

My moment arrived; when, perched atop my pedestal,
I stood prepared.
Synapses, sinews, and senses
came to accord
in the moment's
black
and final tension.

Alas! A Grey horror crept and crumbled upwards;
my base controlled, consumed.
Outstretched and crumbling,
my last feeble
strike at innocence,
failing me,
fell short of its mark.

A cruel knowledge;
a foul treachery.
A final unmasking,
but no more cherub.
Across from me,
never was there innocence,
nor opportunity;
only its guise.
Only my unforeseen master.

A superior malevolence.
A blacker unknown.
A menacing lover of deception.
Eruption of spite.
Vile and merciless messenger.
To your ancient invocation,

"Checkmate!"

...in ashes,
I succumb.

I was...the crouched, stone gargoyle,
whose intellect hung over the room.

Learn more about this author, Alvaro Ramos.
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