May 9, 2018Poem
Wipe it clean
lossnaturepoliticsmemorymortality
Wipe it clean
Sweep the dirt away
Clean hands
Leave fingerprints
Every piece moved
On the board
Has been marked
Even when the King
Is last to fall
His lustre has been tarnished
Every square carries the stain
Of battle
Every victory ends in defeat
For the loser
In a bloodless coup
Sweat ingrained in polished wood
From a thousand moves
How much wiser
Are we
So much less than
We once thought
And yet still we play
Expecting a different outcome
To the last
Spill the wine
As we deliberate
Sticky drops curb the freedom
Of the Rook
To slide freely
From side to side
Wipe the board clean
Begin again
Every piece affected
Even the knights
Have been lost
There is no grail
No end game
No independent thinking
Just a series of moves
Each one dictated
By the last
Until finally
It is game over.