Chess – Like Life??

Tis an honored sport of insurgent warfare,

and germane tactics from within the trenches,

as the die is cast and travels plenty, where

the coup d’état of one king is revenge, yes—

Each man has a seat, each king has a throne

Each rule will be shadowed by an accord

The will of the impeccable, the will to condone

with such behaviors still perceived from the board.

The site of marble crust and glossy facets

This small world lain upon these housing squares.

With enigmas contrived in lucid habits

and enticements laid about on checkered snares—

As counselor of war, there is one purpose

That purpose is to crush the opponent’s mind

coercing his weakness, becoming his burdens,

plaguing every thought that intertwines.

“The laws of the board do not permit free picks:

you have to move whether you like it or not.”

All options are on the board; yet the clock still ticks,

each second shielding Arthur and Camelot.

The intellect stretches on triggered time,

trusting the subterfuge with erudite design.

Where action grants reaction, penance for crime,

and spaces earn a modicum of swift refine.

The clock peers out and haunts the verity.

Someone is now bound to make a mistake

Time, if left unvalued shows severity,

With chance of loss burgeoned as tension breaks.

Strength is amassed from robust outer shells

It always helps if they can’t see you suffering

Impassiveness is a place where you must dwell,

The best kept secret requires covering

When accepting volition we are held captive,

Prisoners to the mesmeric moonlit dark,

and opal white is helpless, but to be reactive

willing to consummate a closing spark.

There are those in life where in their presence,

Others can sense their own mediocrity

As Karpov and Tal’s minds are considered weapons

almost immune to the wiles of animosity.

In a game where there are no external factors,

nothing outside the realm of what your mind rehearsed,

No hands are dealt, no field conditions matter,

your moves are either better, equal or worse

Chess is that pressing silence, the sweating void,

in the twinging microcosms incurred

where a single vascular interchange deployed

between the frontal lobe and the nerve endings occur—

In my fingertips my words speak louder

than any other vocal conception.

The unleashed juggernaut longs to devour,

Dethroning everything until concession

None want the burden of losing the war

There is no worthy achievement in that.

Though at the end of the game, both kings and pawns

They go back into the same box and lay flat.