Game of Fate

Every week a card is played,
four suits as seasons tell;
seers seeking signs and omens
for soldiers gambling their lives.
Summer hearts bleed for a king’s ideology,
red queens of winter and blood diamonds. 
Spring spades digging trenches and graves of war
for infantry boys, bearing 
black clubs, lances and rifles as they fall.
causality cuts lines in fate, 
making kings and commoners equal
in the games of war they partake;
All play with the hand they’re dealt,
only some see the deck shuffled again.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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Wolf Avatar
February 27, 2018 at 2:01 PM
Delightful extended metaphor, Kyrill! It has all the elements of a winning sonnet: Imagery, eloquence of language, and a killer final two lines. (O.K. So, the final couplet doesn't rhyme, and it's not "officially" a 'sonnet.' I think it's terrific.) Haven't seen any poems from you for a week...Am looking forward to more. :) Gershon
Sazonov Avatar
February 28, 2018 at 12:21 AM
Thank you so much for the kind words! I'm currently abroad for a couple weeks, but i'll be sure to add some as soon as i return!
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