The king is the one you covet to protect, the king is but the gold,

The intrepid knights that move their steeds, are the sentinels waiting to be told,

And the pawns are the lives you wager, yet the ones you cannot live without,

With strategy and a bated breath, the useless ones are out.

The queen complements the king, but at disposal is her life,

She is merely a powerful mind to ploy, until there comes the strife,

Bishops move diagonally, a steadfast mutual in place,

Rooks will kill without liability, like the insignia of our race.

And isn't it truly hilarious, how the trophy they strive to keep,

Is the one that wants to live for themselves, like how people are their own sheep?

The blacks and the whites, the adversary and ally, two sides of a single board,

When the whites will move, the blacks will conquer, a Sicilian move of the lord,

Like how sins will taint, but the good will endeavour, to live in this wretched place,

Forgetting how paper is so simple to damage, with the ink of vanity that scars each face.

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Tagging @Kaitlyn_Hathaway for all her contributions and zeal in still reading my poems up to now :)