This chess game of immense distortions
With truth zig-zagging. Brilliant moves.
Brilliant teeth. Each convention seems
The Superbowl, or a crusade. Queens
Having all the moves and women will make
Themselves known. And the unknown,
Scares the Hell out of me. There are
So many of us. Pawns. Dots. Peanuts.
Smoke and mirrors, Smoke and mirrors.
This game has stakes bigger than the sun.
The glitter blinds me. I have to look away.
Conventions are indeed chess games with the queen being the powerful people, but only one, while there are so many insignificant pawns.
Beautiful metaphoric poem.
Blessings my friend,
Joyce B.