The Crimson King

A tale of a Monarch with a broken kingdom

The Crimson King

In his court, the Crimson King,
observes a board afar
An alabaster Queen, she sings,
amidst a heart ajar

Held upon the sleeves of pawns
and ivory drawn knights
Days stretch out from dusk till dawn
with castles chalky white

With bishops on the back row, mute,
too scared to travel straight
Where even seeds we don't sew, root,
we reap our kingdoms late

With crimson masked in monochrome,
and squares so white and black
Lost moves cost in homophones,
we think we can't move back

Behind the black, behind the mask,
a heart beats loud and red
With pieces left, not up to task,
hued black and white in dread

With strictest rules framed far too taut,
and moves easily spent
Locked in thoughts with lessons fraught,
in shades of grey repent

Strategic, from his courtyard planned
Where capture taunts release
With heart held hostage, soul demands
The prospect of some peace

With pieces scattered black and white
A Queen he tries to flee
Despite desires, dark and light
… a Crimson King is he