Enter the olden arcade within the vicinity of suburbia,
To play with zest the blasters and platformers that are,
unique in their style.
Flashing dials and flickering screens haunt the players mind,
As he taps and types, wielding the joystick like some,
Manic swordsman encapsulated in this modern time.
His concentration level is accentuated by his cold-hard stare ,
And destroying and evading the enemy is a vast priority,
In the challenging set of old.
The last boss...frenzy, the screens psychedelic imagery, gives off,
a metallic wooden presence that accumulates in a final battle,
Of glory, the battle is won.
Victorious, he emerges from the cavern, the high score,
Recorded on a ragged piece of paper plucked from his pocket,
That's the only proof he's got, and that's all he'll ever need.
POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2012