King Me!

We play checkers, and He plays chess.
We hold our back line, keeping our emotions close to our chests.
We parry with our front pieces to avoid getting jumped.
He lets us pass unscathed, making us stumped.
“He let me by without taking my man!”
Move after move, he lets each of our checkers reach to the end.
We gain king after king until there’re no single men.
In a rush of pride, we boast, “Now I can win!”
But then the changeling Lord shows who’s the true Master.
We learn his game is really chess, here and hereafter.
So each king wilts and dies in the headline’s of yesterday’s paper,
Every year falling, faster and faster.
Learning too late their lives’ grave disaster.
Their epitaphs should have but one thing to say.
“We should’ve learned from the King how to really play.”

Posted in Perspective, Poem for Your Day, Poetry

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