desks sit in rows
like prison bars
next door a telephone
sings hurry songs
i watch leaves fall
from trees
watch dust
gather dust
on windowpanes
this is life
played out with wooden pieces
programmed for
success
i sell my soul now
i sit with stone pawns
i move when hands
move me
i answer
the tele-
phone
yes devil
i've come to sell
my soul
Ben Paynter
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-chess-game-life/
