Chess

His eyes were dipped in purity,

bleached of wrong

by a white hot poker of indignation,

a crusading knight in shining armor

and the world whole before him

was dominated by pulses of throbbing coals.

 

Lambs in their alabaster trust

stampeded to his clarion call,

but it was race into slaughterhouse,

their ashen lives

ended by the cool, granite spirits

that rage couldn’t burn.

 

In the night of whispered truths

the villains pointed to in the shadows

emerged in their real identity

as Hitler’s alabaster mask

was ripped away by true noble hearts

he accused of being jet black evil.