On squares of black and white they stand, The pieces poised at each command. The king and queen, a noble pair, A bishop and knight, with regal air. Their moves precise, their strategies true, A game of wits, with skill imbued. Every move, a step in time, A dance of power, rhythm, and rhyme. The pawns, they move with hesitant tread, Protecting their king, tears unshed. For they know the cost of defeat, A value, they hold beyond deceit. The board a battlefield of the mind, A place of battle for those who are finely aligned. It's a game of patience and cunning, A mental fight for those who are stunning. And when the game is finally won, Defeat, despair, the feeling undone. But win or lose, it's just a game, The worth of life, it remains the same.
A Poem of chess
A Poem of chess
6
2
Elegant piece, syzygy. The board may be fixed, but the mind never is. Each match a mirror, strategy veiling psychology. Victory whispers, but loss teaches louder. Yet the true value lies not in the outcome… …but in the clarity it brings between the squares. Play on. The game remembers.
1