The pawns advance across the board,
The clear lines, black and white.
The rooks and bishops tower tall
But the queen is not in sight.

A bastion falls, a seat of scorn
Arises in its stead.
A jewel shattered, a hearth reborn,
A king without his head.

The pieces move, by unseen hands,
By players draped in distance,
And nameless horrors purge the land
With numinous assistance.

A thousand raids, a hundred wars,
A dozen make the histories.
A handful more, from endless scores,
The rest untold, left mysteries.

The pawns advance across the board,
The carrion birds take flight.
The knights give voice to battle calls,
But the queen is not in sight.

Empires rent, and continents
Soon follow in their wake.
A world, a song, a friendly game,
But hardly more at stake.

These checkered realms, where lines but meet
To square off territories,
Where death is gambit, feint and cheat,
Where numbers stamp out glory.

The death of Gods, the death of men
Reduced to rows and columns,
The wails of orphans, foes and friends,
Ring playacted and hollow.

The pawns advance across the board,
The murk against the bright.
Her banners flutter over all
But the queen is not in sight.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Scarlatan, in the year 954 AF.