A steadfast line of brothers stand,
prepared to take the master’s hand.
The king and queen and all the others,
Rest in peace, behind the brothers.

The lords are shielded, by the pawns,
Safe, at least, til’ conflict dawns.
Across the way, a different king,
Prepares the sword, the spear, the sling.

And Peace like fleeting, winter light,
Is forced to flee, a fragile sprite,
A flight that leaves a veil of hate,
A kind of hunger blood can sate.

A conflict born of dueling minds,
that leads to fate of different kinds.
The skies above are filled with ash,
and far below the armies clash.

But once the scourge of war has passed,
and peace returns, to stay, at last,
The chaos and the bloodshed, spent,
The tattered souls and corpses, rent,

The price of war, too steep to pay,
Leaves what remains, in shades of gray,
Gone is black and gone is white,
Lost among the common plight.

Alas, the line of brothers, stood,
Once they fought for what was good,
Now they see what comes from hate,
Both thrones bound, by check and mate.