He stands like the king,
On a veteran chess board.
Waiting... Watching...
And often ignored.

Helpless... immobile...
Though deathly profound.
He stands with a swagger;
He's victory bound.

Humble and loyal,
But royally blind.
Did he here a hello?
Did he taste a goodbye?

Did he stumble or falter?
For I couldn't see.
Did his jagged edge slice too hard
Through victory?

Did his feet fall asunder?
Did his bishop stand wise?
Or did regret sew a pillow?
Was he spirit deprived?

Did his pawns do their duty?
Did the knight stay alive?
Or did he get caught,
Behind enemy lines?

The queen is the victor,
Deceitful and sly.
She slithers like art
From black onto white.

Her capture becoming
The reason you move.
But the closer you come now,
The more you've to lose.

Was victory witnessed?
Or did the fortune prescribe
A placebo of hope
To end glorious lives?

Was checkmate his future...
Anonymous crimes.
Tell me who... Tell me who...
Has beat me this time?
 
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