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LOL HAIKUS WUT.
The snow would not stop.
But it still fell gently, so
He didn't care much.
Everything was grey,
Or white, or so obscured that
It was not a color.
He didn't know where
The chess board had come from -- 'had
Found it in the back
Of his freezing den.
Now it sat on a flat rock
And he, before it.
Insignificant
White pawn was missing, but the
Rest were all set up.
A sigh was a breath
Of white fog, invisible
Against everything.
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LOL BEAT POETRY
Smoke. Always smoke.
How long now, has the addiction held?
Years? Months? He no longer knows.
Time means nothing, in this winter-gray, western sky.
Direction is lost, sense of purpose is lost.
Here and now.
Only the here and now.
He found the man in the snow,
A madman bum, more scars then skin;
Red-eyed, tattered, broken.
They could have been brothers.
White on gold,
White on black,
White on white.
They are living artifacts,
And here they mean nothing.
One hand moves,
And a broken, dark knight goes to war.
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WE ARE TRES AMAZN.
They were brothers, kin,
Brethren of chaos and war.
Dead together now.
His was a sad smile,
But it was the best he had.
Laughter was not his.
A white pawn, lonely,
Missing one of its own sad
Brothers. Move forward.
Play the tarnished horn.
Beat the beaten old drum scores.
The white night is hell.
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The madman, though not half-so-mad now,
Turns the white to war.
History repeats itself, oh my Brothers,
History cares not for these men.
He smokes, snow falling,
Contemplating his own death.
Tobacco stained hands twist,
Sending another pawn to war.
They do not speak, oh my Brothers,
Because language means nothing,
Because words are not enough,
Because there are no words.
They are both mad,
And in this madness have found each other.
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"Make love, not war!" say
The nay-sayers, but realize
There is no difference.
The black and white are
Brothers too, but hatred ran
As deep as their blood.
Wretched creatures and
Wicked children, growing up
To be their fathers,
Even after years
Of growing up and hating
Them. Boys cannot change.
A regal knight, all
Poised with lance quite ready
For the blood of this
Brother, this battle.
Everything they did was a
Half-formed metaphor.
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War, war, always war,
Constant, inevitable,
Once upon a time.
They have both seen war.
And perhaps they have become their fathers,
For indeed all boys do,
And perhaps this does not surprise them,
For the world is predictable.
Onward, cried the king,
Hiding behind his court,
Onward, urged his God,
Taking the white knight to the grave.
There will be more graves,
And more boys to go to war.
That, above all else, will never change.
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He had never had
Any real experience
Playing this mind game.
But all the same, the
Rules had been memorized --
Rules of engagement,
Of hatred and blood,
Of hapless strategies and
Mad killing tactics.
This was their lives on
A checkerboard, but far too
Simple, for the queens
Weren't invincible
And the kings had no power,
Though that was likely
The most truthful thing
About the flat battlefield.
The other knight now.
More weary was he.
The death had been their gain, but
A death all the same.
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Fight, capture, kill, destroy.
Ideals of a previous nation;
A previous time.
They hold true even in this mock war.
Take a breath,
Take a drag,
Send forth the bishop,
Wielding his holy stave.
The illustrated man, with his tattooed chest,
Regards the playing field.
He exhales smoke, reasons in the snow,
And returns to war.
The game continues;
Silent, black and white,
Like an old movie reel.
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They all grew up to
Die, but to make that death worth
Their lives, they make lies.
Elbow on the rock,
Chin against his palm, thinking.
It didn't matter.
Turns passed like falling
Snow. Pawns, knights, bishops and rooks --
Fight for that own deaths.
Check, he said calmly,
Almost boredly, in that soft,
Reserved sort of way.
A white knight poised to
Kill, to save Alice from her
Wonderland at last.
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Death was so final,
So absolute,
It gave them meaning,
It gave them something to look forward to.
The war went on for hours, perhaps,
For eternity.
The king hid behind his castle,
And a saintly warrior struck,
Sending the knight to legend.
A year passes,
A hundred years,
But it is only a moment in time.
Darkness rises.
“Checkmate,” the illustrated man said,
A renegade queen and her holy warrior posed,
Waiting in the shadows,
Prepared to end it all.
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Perhaps we are done?
We should totally do this
Again though. 'Twas win.
His smiles were all
Faint and small, barely there lines
Curving upwards some.
Checkmate? A swift loss,
But so many fallen men
Were lined on the sides.
A field filled. Bodies.
Black and white blood -- closed red eyes.
Forgotten prayers, dreams.
Cest la vie, he said.
Rough fingers picked up the king
So that he may see
All of his fallen sons.
I was missing a pawn, said
He, But cest la vie.
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