In the court of squares where minds collide,
Each piece with purpose, none to hide.
The pawns advance, the bishops slide,
While castles hold their royal pride.
The Knight may dance with flair and bend,
But even kings must meet their end.
For showy starts and bold pretense—
Are crushed by moves that make real sense.
Now enters one, all bluster, loud,
With golden crown he forged from cloud.
He thumps his chest, demands the board,
Mistaking noise for sharpest sword.
He rooks his rage, he knights his lies,
He thinks the truth’s a thing that dies.
But we, the players, know this game—
A king, no matter how insane,
Is just one square from checkmate and shame.
The rules don’t bend for ego’s thrill,
And pawns united break a will.
For though the king may strut and call—
This land was never his at all.
In chess, in life, despite it a
Kings, in the end, fall.