This has not aged in the old moleskin and its 2:49 ( Just got back from Iron Man, so you can guess what three cords are running through my mind) a.m. Unlike most my poems I actually have a title for this one:
The Chess Board
I have stared into the eyes of your demon,
Seen its face,
Souls twisted,
To its own purposes,
As you twist yours to its,
Only one stands betwixt you,
A black knight,
A knight who smiles into the blackness,
You see, he does not fight fair in these battles,
Never has,
So, for awhile I am here,
What is the difference between help,
And fix it?
Where is the line drawn,
between,
A listening ear,
and a shrink?
I,
Am,
Afraid,
I cannot,
do,
both,
Can I?
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