The deities haven’t stopped playing
from the times of seemingly benevolent
checkers of merchants, then grandiose
chess of nobles: with faith-imposing bishops,
knights riding galleons and gold-grabbing
queens to worshipping warships and heartless
flying dragons - drones -
the fields looked innocent white and black
squares of histories, in ink of charred woods
of forests long gone, upon snobbish pompous
quills, in cursive elegant, as trumpets sound
the victories of empires - post grabbed
rectangles and polygons, dots and circles -
everything has always been drenched crimson -
written in blood-red of martyrs -
and perpetually, the poor -
the ordinary people
are the faceless pawns:
the scattered dust and ashes
crying . . . genuine change . . .
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 9:03 AM UTC
The deities haven’t stopped playing
from the times of seemingly benevolent
checkers of merchants, then grandiose
chess of nobles: with faith-imposing bishops,
knights riding galleons and gold-grabbing
queens to worshipping warships and heartless
flying dragons - drones -
the fields looked innocent white and black
squares of histories, in ink of charred woods
of forests long gone, upon snobbish pompous
quills, in cursive elegant, as trumpets sound
the victories of empires - post grabbed
rectangles and polygons, dots and circles -
everything has always been drenched crimson -
written in blood-red of martyrs -
and perpetually, the poor -
the ordinary people
are the faceless pawns:
the scattered dust and ashes
crying . . . genuine change . . .
