Fallen Ivory

Rushing wind. Frantic, they stand

Still. Awaiting the command for

Death. They fear, they tremble, but they're so

Loyal. They wouldn't dream of it, they wouldn't

Dare. They're cowards. Too pure, they can't...

Ivory. Defenseless. Strikingly apparent against

Onyx. The assailants have the high ground, and they

Watch. With menacing calm, they move

Forward. No remorse, with a mission-

Corruption.

It's beyond them, fighting back. They try, but

The Ivory collapse, and roll, and lie still in the

Dust. So dark, damaging, it stains their smooth

Marble. And marvel.

No morals. With new life, blackened purity

Stands. Awaiting the command for

Victory. The Ivory-

They fall.

And it's a game of chess.

End.

A/N:

In case you'd like to know exactly what this is about, here it is: it's about how we change as we grow older. Simple? Yes. Is it represented well in the poem? I dunno. You tell me.

Critiques would be great, by the way. Or any reviews at all, really, but critiques especially.

And I'm really mad at the system here. I can't seem to get this to format the way I want. Dx