Battle

The enemies opposed and still, waiting for command
Darkest knights on deep black steeds guard with steady hand
The white washed towers of ivory protect the lord, their king
The men who walk to battle when their king doth sing
Each of these as still as the ground on which they tread

Two lords opposed and still, their men at their behest
Will walk and crawl and run and fight and kill with zealous zest
Horses will die and bishops too, who defend and guard
Filled with blood crazed rage, the queens themselves will hit them hard
Many will not survive, it will be their final rest, their last bed

Slowly the fighting slows, the carnage is so great
The remaining pieces of the fight have eyes filled with hate
Some will pick up the weapons of their fallen friends
And fight with renewed vigor using their new ends
The fight will cease only when a king will lose his head


The title of the poem is 'Chess'.

God bless,
>P<
Joshua Fahey