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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2004704
A short poem about competition.



May it be a game of chess,
Or a war to win a fortress,
There always is a battle,
So loud, the windows rattle.

Sweaty palms,
ringing alarms,
bitten nails,
someone fails.

Their risen spirits fall,
they all feel so small.
Their hearts black as coal.
After all, it's a battle of souls.



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