​The Master’s Lament

The room is buzzing violently, the master hobbles in. He starts to shout and thrash about, inform the next of kin. There’s no one here to take you home so best be on your way, pull the shade and shut the door please come again someday.

The square is marching lock and step, their gaze is undefined, the children watch with bated breath and follow them in kind. The orders given hastily but marked and sealed with scorn, handed out to missionaries soon as they were born.

The tower walls are shaking as the giant slams the sides, bricks are falling to the ground while people run and hide. They grab their swords and make a stand, they hide their growing dread, for each and every one of them will soon enough be dead.

Now They in charge convene at night to finalize their schemes, for them it’s just the way it is, their history it seems . Pawns placed with deliberation, castle walls are never shaken, knights that gallop into dawn, while bishops keep the masses calm. King controls one lonely space while Queen is free to instigate the greatest aims now laid to waste but bound and tied with patterned lace the soldiers hear and about face but suddenly the rest are gone it’s them alone that hold the masses leaders cloaked in shadowed classes who is left when all is done, shadows stretched by rising sun.