Chess

This is a poem that has been published and won awards, but is also just plain fun. One 'bad' word, but nothing explicit. Just philosophy.

Chess

A twisted game of Chess is played
On the landscape of my mind
By me against Infinity.
The Pieces? lives of mortal men.

Who weaves the warp, here, and who the weft
In this mindscape, out of time?
Tis not Clothos spun my thread,
Nor does Lachesis guide its path.
But Atropos, the hag, might yet
Cut its measure short
To gain advantage for Infinity,
Distort our battle ground.

But I am not so easily cured
Of my wasting, long disease.
And if I fall, another comes―
Though gods help him not go mad!

Infinity, the master,
I, the novice clad in white.
But Infinity unwittingly
Has gave away his play.
My first little game of Chess
May well be my last.

We are masters, he and I,
Him master over men.
Yet I, it seems, am greater master:
Master over him.

With Infinity as teacher, pawn,
How could I not win?
But things might take a different path―
My queen’s his bishop’s whore.
But I, the king, have great asset
In Infinity, my knight.

He ponders with a strange, sad smile,
On how to meet defeat:
To win over me and die
Or in losing, lose his life?

I can play blindly, and still win,
With genius, and still lose.
This long stalemate has no end
Because we both must die.
For if there’s no Infinity,
I ask, then, where am I?