Victor.

A champion of her soul

Rides into the deserted arena

With his sword held high

A declaration of defiance

And war.

He grips tightly to the rails

And hoists himself high,

His words soaring

Far and wide,

Heard by all,

Accepted by all

If the silence was any sign.

She holds her breath,

Her hands clammy

And she’s sweating slightly,

Wanting to look around

And see the protests

That might rise in others’ eyes.

But she can’t look away

To the one standing there,

With glimmering eyes of hope

Shiny with idealism,

And voice, solid and resolute,

Bearing no secrets

With each clear intonation.

There is conviction in his every action,

Belief which he inflates in the people,

And defiance,

For the man on the other side,

The one with a face,

That struggles with age,

And a mouth that moves

Soundlessly repeating

The promises and wishes

He has yet to achieve.

There is victory in the air,

And all can taste it,

Sweet glory,

Hidden under a crisp,

Delicious coating,

Disguised as something simple,

Uncomplicated by milk and cocoa.

The crowd roars,

Furiously worked

By just a few,

Clearly spoken words.

Eardrums cringe,

But there’s no denying,

How wondrous this moment is,

And she knows it,

Her face breaking into a smile,

As her legs carry her to him,

The champion of her soul,

Of her arena,

Of the people,

Of the world.

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