Another Poem

March 15, 2010 Another Poem

The Generals sit not far apart,
They sit and wait; for soon the start
Of worthy war.

The breathing slows, and so the heart,
The fingers twitch, the eyeballs dart
Their quaint rapport.

If morals bide they ne’er implore,
Perchance these Titans them ignore,
But still they fear.

They know not what they’re fighting for,
Content to merely watch the score,
Lead from the rear.

A hand outstretched, the mask sincere,
To certain rules they both adhere,
The game begins.

The pawns move first to the frontier,
Their dying screams doth no-one hear,
The Reaper wins.

How can they now, content, wear grins,
When black and white both fall like pins,
And fight no more.

The Generals sit and bear their sins,
Across the board they could be twins.
Lone, caged, they roar.

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Tags: Chess, Poem, Poetry, War

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