A Game With Death
Deep within the confines of my mind, I play a game with Death itself
The pieces set, black against white, the game played a thousand times before
I move the pawns to block the enemy line, and I feel a tinge of empathy
The pawn and I, so alike, both pieces in someone else’s game, expendable
The greater pieces, knights and rooks, bishops, and queens protect the king
The King, the representation of my mind, if defeated so shall I fall
The pawns charge and clear the way against the line of Death’s allies
Reaching to the sky for their chance at glory, but stricken down before
Death’s cold and brilliant moves seduce me, like a forbidden dance
Haunting and frightening, but tempting all the same, I allow the moves
The pieces fall like leaves from an autumn tree, a piece of me dies with them
For this is no mere game I realize, but the struggle against the embrace of oblivion
And I’m losing, the king backed into a corner, no way out with foes in pursuit
The king in hopeless retreat moves further into defeat, and I tremble
My hand reaches for something, could it be that I’ve succumbed to failure?
I take the king in hand and it falls to its side, the match is forfeit to Death
But as I offer my hand to him, embracing my fate, the phantom simply smiles
A chill smile not seen, but felt in the heart, a stinging pain that told me his intent
He would not take me to the afterlife, but abandon me to a life of pain and hardship
Just like so many times before, the game played over the course of a lifetime
And Death cheats every time, every loss becomes another chance for misery
Copyright © Ian Horton | Year Posted 2006
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