A Chess Game, Life Poem by Ben Partenay
A Chess Game, Life
desks sit in rows
like prison bars
next door a telephone
sings hurry songs
i watch leaves fall
from trees
watch dust
gather dust
on windowpanes
this is life
played out with wooden pieces
programmed for
success
i sell my soul now
i sit with stone pawns
i move when hands
move me
i answer
the tele-
phone
yes devil
i've come to sell
my soul
Ben - I like your fractured look at fractured life, with a fractured soul! Check out my poem, If I Should Lose My Soul, and see what you think. Write, write and write. Cheryl Moyer
Awesome awesomeness; and I'm tongue tied just trying to do justice here.
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4/25/2024 9:09:41 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Hauntingly disturbing reflection on that which we hesitate to see. Life─the vanity of vanities, creeps in this petty pace until the last syllable of recorded time.