The King's Pawns

I wrote this poem for a creative writing class I took last quarter. I hope you enjoy it.

The King’s pawns

are gathering

around our rustic lawns,

wounds festering.

 

 

Grinding cogs and whirling wheels

simulate the cutting

of the sapphiric emerald blade’s heels,

endlessly oil letting.

 

 

Draining seconds from the vein

that heralds the coming

of untold mechanic bane,

plotting and claiming.

 

 

Bounty hunters of the opposition

consuming

until the acquisition,

of the King’s crowning.