The Blood They Spill
The game begins,
O chessboard play.
There white goes first,
the other may dismay.
As moves progress,
the advantage blurs.
The knight he moves,
his horse on his spurs.
Her queen, her lips
painted in pristine chalk.
Her gown, her crown,
immaculate her regal frock.
Like silk she moves
to take the field of fray.
Her rod she wields
to split the pawn like clay.
Whilst I, rod in hand,
met her troubled priest,
whose staff he raised
to force knight’s life to cease.
A sacrifice they set
to lure me to my death.
Poor pawn, a bishop
takes me place instead.
The queen, she stands
upon the cleric’s corpse,
whilst I remove
her crown without remorse.
Then king sought I,
his beard a snowy white,
his blade bejeweled with diamonds,
his crown a pearly sight.
Lay down sweet king
for smite you I shall not.
Your general has been conquered,
your subjects distraught.
This game of the board
is of black and white alike,
where blood is spilled
without bias or spite.
Not once said I
of the color that on their skin lies
For discrimination dwells
only in people’s eyes.
I am queen,
crowned in obsidian glass
This message is to all humans,
this lesson must be passed.
