In this fateful game of life, I struggle to discern which piece of the chessboard I am.
|Playing the game of life, when the only consequence is death,
I am wrong in expecting to come out alive.
I am a pawn on an elaborate chess board
Facing mediocrity when I know I should be a knight.
The other pieces, they play around me
And strike the pawn with without a thought.
I wish to play on a different board;
The travel board has worn itself out,
The cheap cardboard has creased its edges too far,
The wooden board has too many marks on it,
The scuffing shows its history.
I belong of a different board.
Perhaps a fine glass or marble,
With their soft textures and cloudy opacity,
Believed in to get the job done with grace and elegance,
Confident to withstand countless games of wit and strategy.
But when I eventually find myself as marble,
Suddenly, it seems, I am misplaced among the wooden and plastic pieces,
And then cast aside,
Standing out as the one unused piece; as to avoid non-uniformity.
A lonely pawn, expected to be themselves
I could have been a knight.
I could have won battles on the marble board of purpose.
But I had no player,
No mind to guide me,
No hand to place me.
But now I understand I am not the pawn.
I am not the knight.
I am not even the king.
I am the player.
The chessboard is mine
And I will play for as long as it lasts.
And if I make it marble
It might just last longer.