death of a player

fighting to the finish,
shrewdly his fingers bared my cranium,
as torpidity ghastly rung like ancient
gong....eyes glued to the checkered board--
his arena; feet feasting the pallid blows,
making me weak.
suddenly, i recovered my strength.
the torment inside me grew like wild fire.
i trenched his way and had all my
knights armed with rage and demon.
...and then came the "coup de grace."
i imagined myself with wings,
like a bird trying to fly away.
and i gave up, leaving myself
to the mercy of God.
and then, there was thunder--
an applause.
and then came the rain...
my most worthy opponent was bone-dry.