Chess

A poem I wrote a few years ago. I'm quite proud of it, but everything can be improved!

It used to be like this,
You’d sit on your throne, we were your chess pieces
displayed beautifully behind the glass
in your display case,
Ornately carved in
Red and bone;
Pretty,
But useless,
Pretty useless.
Well now the glass is smashed into a million shining pieces
Multi-colours
surround us.
The chess pieces scattered across the floor.
You destroyed them.
They gave up,
stopped fighting,
crushed under your stomping feet.
But I’m still here
And I’m not giving up.
So now, it’s just you and me, my dear,
it’s just you
and
me.