She sits atop a jeweled throne,

her lilac hair an endless stream.

Her gold eyes are all-knowing,

and her body is furled in tenebrous shadows.

She looks at the board before her.

The board with spheres of smoke.

Each sphere had a story.

An identity. A name.

Each sphere had a soul.

Her nimble fingers play with the spheres.

Life grins to herself.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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