Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Playing [with] God

A work in progress.  The last four lines can stay.
My God sits there, across the board
Face serene, behind black pawns
I sit here, behind white knights,
Arms stay crossed, [and thoughts] withdrawn.
We both know the move is mine,
But I refuse to flinch or blink
“Let God be the one to crack
‘Cause I can’t win,” I crossly think.
God sits there, just watching me squirm
Waiting for my attack.
But I have left this bench before:
Unchained, I’ve turned my back,
But give it a lifetime, give it a breath
And back sneaks that black and white itch.
Knowing there has to be one simple way
To get un-cornered and make the switch.
We’ve played this game for some odd years,
Attacks both sneaky and sly,
Watching each other as much as the board
[We find and follow the eyes].
I slump on the bench, frustrated with God
Knowing I’ve one move to make.
And God [looking smug] is just watching me sink,
To counter my move with “checkmate.”

1 comment:

  1. Love this poem, and the honest picture it creates.