The Game of Kings: A Chess Poem

I sit across the board, fingers tapping the wood,
A game of war, a battle of mind—misunderstood.
The pawns march forward, small but bold,
Sacrifices made, as the story unfolds.

A knight leaps left, then takes a right,
A fork in the road—a calculated fight.
The bishop slides like a whispered plan,
Diagonals cutting where only he can.

Castles stand firm, guarding the way,
A king's last refuge in the final play.
But the queen? She’s ruthless, fast and free,
A powerhouse piece—more deadly than me.

Check. Counter. A well-placed trap,
Strategy woven in every recap.
Each move is a lesson, a risk to embrace,
Patience rewarded in this silent chase.

And when the dust settles, the game is done,
One side victorious, one overrun.
But win or lose, I play once more—
Because chess is life, and life’s a war.