the world is yours

Clang— nickel singing with platinum, a cathedral bell chiming. The street artist and the pauper orchestrate a pantomime of gratitude for the robber of banks, for the tailor of broken hearts. Your presence—regal. Aurora parading at midday, unparalleled, as the skyline shrugs off the brown earth for daring such audacity. Dreams reach for you, return as fragments. Whispers tiptoe down the hall— Stanford smiles among the crème de la crème. Daggers drawn. Metal against metal. Fencing without blood. Stalemate— until you call it checkmate. You enter. Hush falls on the war amongstdogs. Rush comes your charisma— incensed, undeniable. Applause tightens into a whirlpool of awe. Dizziness blooms with every gaze toward your reflection. Are you Helen of Troy, or Joan of Arc, campaigning to mold the world to your liking?