Chess Pieces

 Some of us are pawns

Some of us are rooks

Some of us are kings

Guarded by our knights


Some of us are tools

In a game of queens

Some with abilities to leap over obstacles

While some can adapt no matter the circumstance


Some fight regardless

Others fight to guard

Others are holy with minds of bishops

But in the end we protect what we love


Some leave to serve

Others exist to be served

Black or white

Good or bad


We all fight the same battle

Only in reverse


M¿ster¿°°°

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Soft spot for Sorrow

 In many ways I tried to hinder The very pain felt inner, In dier need of a break through Another definite feel, but it wasn't you. What is true? A burst for Joy Or a tear dropped in sorrow Or is it love that destroy Maybe the one we borrow Listen to yourself, correct the movement of the hand that guides the workings of the innermost touch of thee. In every workings of humanity, the abnormality hidden within define us brutally. Our beauty laid in our inperfection dissected and kept in a place... Mine is my soft spot for sorrow... M¿ster¿°°°
Read more

Paralleled Mysteries 1: ‘The cold marble floor’.

  Sunset, caressed with the evening star slowly the moon comes into light. An in subordinate view of the melancholy of a broken mirror. But you see yourself in many hues. Alone in the castle of your mind, what we see is how we see it, our own view point, our mind a chaotic yet peaceful comfort, our true home. In a house of non verbal communication, speaking in signs and language a repertoire of gestures, occupied by those who haven’t lost their voice, but seek their soul. She sat in the middle of the marble floor, the cold sending tendrils and chills down her spine. Her eyes closed, her face devoid of emotions. The uncharted part of her mind beginning to get foundation as the riddles of gestures where brought to light by the cold marble floor. The insurgence of her curiosity laying depths to the timeless void of her questioned purity and purpose. But not questions of the cold marble floor as it surged even deeper. Communications made without a voice it spoke. With signs that look...
Read more

Strings of Melancholy

 Intoxicated by the twist and turns, a tight grasp of the strings of the heart, the tuning process of the melody inspired by melancholy. The bitter sweet feeling, the sad but peaceful perception, an understanding assessed and clinged to by the heart as the tunes grip and reopen fresh wounds. If words could explain, if words could simply create a sentence, identifying cryptly, indicating pricisely the cunning and deceptive nature of music to a bleeding heart. A direct relationship where the heart surrenders it all, the brain, the ears, the mind. A strike embarked by the heart to clench its desires firmly from the caressing sad symphony of the strings of melancholy. M¿ster¿°°° 
Read more