The pawn advances toward certain doom,
as another rushes to meet him.
His brothers watch as the pawn tests his foe
knowing nothing more than the one
before him is his enemy.
He strikes at his foe and comes out on top,
but there is no time for him to celebrate
as he is cut down before his brothers
by a knight removing the peasant trash.
The king is pleased, lazily waiting,
blinded by the reach of his bishops.
His holy war will never cease.
The queen, sympathetic to her people,
stands on the frontlines with them,
ready to sacrifice herself if she must.
Her knights move to assist her, drawing blades
with horses charging at the queen’s call.
Her beloved, now a corrupted, worthless shell
watches from the walls of his castle,
refusing to dirty his hands despite her pleas.
They march as one to face the enemy.
Each pawn wonders and worries,
dreading their permanent advance.
Will they survive to reach a higher
call, or will they be mindlessly cut down?
The empty promise of nobility if they succeed
pushes them forward, but the title is only temporary.
Above, Death is watching intently,
eager to claim and reap the pieces,
controlling both sides as he throws them away.
Friend and foe are given no distinction
while they are placed in the same graveyard.
As the sides clash the outcome is uncertain.
Even if they should win the day it will be
a battle with no clear prize, a needless victory.
Tomorrow the holy war will continue
the same way it does, every day.