Bickering Over A Game of Chess

I sat to play the devil in a game of chess,

what a fool.


He gave me the first move,

playing the gentleman.


I stepped out in hope,

then paused.


He countered with desire,

for a meaningless thing.


Too easy I thought,

and made my second move.


He responded with pungent memory

of bittersweet misdeeds.


Cunning, but my repentance

took his pawn.


He then cornered me,

with crippling despair.


And in three quick moves he’d conquered me:

lured out with desires,

baited by self-satisfaction,

and toppled by unguarded memory and emotion.


I surveyed our game, which I’d lost before,

searching out his stratagem and trickery.


“But I notice you have no king.”

I said to my opponent.


“I need no king, I rule myself.”

He replied with a sneer.


“But you’ve lost before you’ve started,

playing chess without a King.”


“And where’s your King,

of empty promises and no return?”


When the devil is attacking,

I’m at a loss of what to say.


So I prayed for a reply,

that would make him go away.


He leaned across the table,

and with his sneery, grimy smile—


He repeated his pointed question,

then leaned back self-satisfied.


“Have you forgotten my King rose again,

appearing to five-hundred in plain view?


There’s nothing empty in His promises,

we both know that this is true.


He will be coming back again,

and when that time has come—


This chess match for my soul will end,

and with it, so will you.”


He flashed a fearful, wicked glance,

in malice, moved his first, cruel pawn.


And with a renewed violence,

He announced the game was on.



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