An Empty Chessboard

(A/N: Technically, this piece is complete on its own but somehow, I still feel that it isn't finished. Regardless, I'll have to post this one as is. Anyway, enjoy.)

An Empty Chessboard
By: Ezekiel de Guia

Sitting in the middle of the room
Between two forces, opposites by fate
Evoked with a game yearned to finish.

One to dare and assume
That the game has not come too late
Or this madness has nothing to furnish.

Empty, pieces stand not in this loom
Fate unseen as our souls lark and rate,
Nay, the game runs at a garnish.

The adversary laid the game's attack
Here, I said "The move, the force it lacks."
Mistaken was I, she declared "It is not a mere knick-knack."

Checkmate.

Amalgamation

(Author's Note: Once again, I'm posting another poem. This was published in Pundasyon 9, this went first before Vermillion. I hope it amuses much. Without further ado, here it is.)

Amalgamation
By: Ezekiel de Guia

Amalgamation
Fearing what is invoked,
Ailing the tears of men provoked.

Invocation
Weary thoughts meandering,
As words fade to wandering.

Renumeration
In full, we mask our scars
To stare at endless wars.

Redemption
Of fear and sins received,
In the end we want reprieve.

Dissolution
Pristine white now tainted,
Alas, our world is now painted.

Cease and desist,
Everything exists,
It ends where it begins.

Vermillion

(Author's Note: This poem was published in Pundasyon 10 and is being reposted out of a friend's request. Sharing it to everyone here now. I hope you enjoy.)


Vermillion
by: Ezekiel de Guia


Tell me dear child, what is despair?
Is it when shades howl at twilight's behest?
Nay, that's fear in its blatant unrest.


Then what does it hold if hope has been snuffed?
When chains make you turn from the nightmare's mask,


And wish that the fury you feel that had grown colder,
Lest the cold is worst than Nifleheim's frost,
Fear the law of the world's indignation.


Sanguine offering had the chalice engulfed.
Bitter wine gathered in Malice's flask,
Poured out in enmity, he is feral yet frail.


Fury grown cold, schemes hold with vengeance.
Yet when roused awake, its ire holds no penance.


When the grail is poured out...
When the bitter ale turns sweet...
Your offering has been taken
While thy good deeds are forsaken...


Drink, dear fallen, it is over.

Countdown Mode: 4 Days before Renunciation

As a way to dust off this blog, I decided to input some new things in here. To start off, let's go with the news.

First, having gone through Thesis and such, the chances of graduating are attainable but still under the risk of change. Anything can happen even at the end game. Can't say much about it but I'm getting close.

Second, this blog will serve as both "journal", "literary collection", and "anything that comes by a whim". Gonna put categories on that one. As for that, I'll get started with the poems.

That's all for the updates so, time I get the tags fixed and get the posting order back to work.