Of some Pawns and some Bishops

Drenched in Sweat and illuminated by the bush lamp
I stood before the worktable and the spread map
I mustered not a small assemblage
Of pawns rooks knights and bishop-age

Yet I knew not what the Kings and Queens
Of this age would offer for all these
what I knew was a  sense of the strategist
Thinking 3 waves ahead of the Pacifist

For someone once said to make peace
One must prepare for war
Even water finds its ease
And Nature takes His course

But I would rather you heed not
The Drums that call for the battling ax
Take not thy sword
For the die is not yet cast

For there a time shall surely come
For a manifest of the Truth become
That ye may receive unto thyself
The Secrets of the Tapestry and the Weft

That point not to this thy forebears
But thy Progeny and thy afteryears
Hold not sacrosanct thy belief
That whatever you give you shall receive

Because men of this Earth we dwell in
Have sold off far better than your lot there-in

For the Pawn on the way to ma Bishop
has killed culled and pulled off all stops
To its destination afore the Cross
That when it finally adorns the Mitre

It seeks to redress the crossed
And heal the accursed