Nathics then Burden.
I'm a slave to mankind.
A mindless pawn.
My hair is in knots,
held together by hard, dry dirt
as I search for an answer;
The battlefield is death
to the fullest degree -
all common knowledge is lost.
luxuries are the last
things on our minds, and survival
is a family trait. Confusion.
Let me take a knife and literally
cut your beating heart out
and tie it to my sleeve,
so I can feel your broken heart bleed.
But, I have no power in this war.
I'm just a children's toy to you.
Dispose of me as you wish, my queen.
I'll fight on, and never back down
like a tom petty tune was floating
in the gentle breeze. The calm
before the storm I suppose.
Prepare yourselves men,
is shouted like it was announced over
a speaker. I run my calloused finger tip
over the individual cracks in the broken
ground, pondering why I ever left home.
The salty breeze, and the cool touch
of the blue ocean. My family, friends,
even my dog is so cherished to me.
But fuck it. I'm battle hardened -
and war is upon us.
I make my move:
The enemy's repertoire is hidden
Pitch black, amongst the brutally bloodied,
A thoroughly cryptic code;
Expressionless, their faces are wooden.
Inscrutable - The Dark King himself
Is steadily poised, as still as a photograph.
His lesser soldiers advance with
An air of poignant finality which, strangely,
Leaves me gasping for breath.
We collide, shaking heaven and
Tickling earth. A stalemate thus far,
We have each felled six soldiers,
Neither of us depleting the other King's cattle.
My wounded gaze wanders, unabashed;
Landing upon the impassive
Guise of my very own Sire, he is
As emotionless as ever, torturing the Queens
Heart. A thousand deaths upon him.
Alas; with graceful poise I persevere,
Effortlessly disposing of lowly vagabonds.
The weapon of choice; my head.
The Dark King moves forward
Fluently; with a sense of occasion -
Flourishing in the treacherous air.
He raises his immortal blade to
Hastily dispose of me;
Fortunately; It is my turn, enraptured, I may move..
Yet I do not; For out the corner of my eye,
I see my beautiful Queen: ready to pounce
After he takes me. His sword falls..
I am rendered useless by the blow;
A wretched mass of splinters - and then
Nothing. In despair I whisper;
Checkmate.
