Moments slip by,
As we hunch over a checkered board,
Intricate pieces placed with precision,
He moves to take my last pawn,
But what are pawns to a chess master?
They're but objects to move one closer to victory.
It is my turn now,
I move my knight and snuff his rook,
He seems unphased,
What's a rook to a chess master?
It was only there to defend his king.
As the seconds pass on so do our pieces,
We capture and kill until nothing but our kings are left,
Stuck in an eternal draw.
We squandered our pieces for the sake of the king,
But what is a king without his people?
And what is a chess-master without his pieces?
A war where only the kings are valued and the lesser are collateral damage,
Is a war no one can win.
YOU ARE READING
bad poetry
Poetryhi, my name is anneliese and I write to deal with some of my life issues such as trauma from abuse, depression, anxiety, etcetera. writing has helped me heal and I'm not very good at it but it's a valuable coping skill for me. if you like this pleas...
