Poem-A-Day: Day 168

Painting Rooms

Swell and crawl,
scrawling golden years;
paint across the walls
in jarring lightning bolt shapes,
crooked tears that seem to go nowhere
but over, down, up, and across
in every direction
with no direction,
screaming thunderous booms
in a pattern representing a chess board,
bored with playing games
and pushing check
when the mate has passed
the king for pawn.