stopping the impending doom
jet fighters crisscross the skies
like high flying bishops
licensed to fly
at control central pawns
surround the queen
fanning her with anything
they can get their hands on
at all four corners
white men wage war against
all other colors
wielding maces and knives
flashing suicide switches against
her majesty’s wishes
all the while horsemen
silently breathe into the fog
anxious for that chance
to live and die another day
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
I’m totally stoked over this most excellent chess-board poem.
thank you – I’m glad that you are
Wow, this is brilliant.
thank you very much
Do we really need the horsemen.. I think we can manage apocalypse ourselves.
I believe you’re on to something there….