Random

Across this field, I stare,

Eight by eight

A space of hate.

Two steps forward,

I know my fate.

But move I must

For the fight is mine

Mine to die

And mine to make.

The mimicry to me, 

It's almost like a mirror.

A knight of faith,

I know his place. 

And with each step I take,

You play with grace.

I loathe you gander,

You despise my gait.

But the next is yours to make, 

And so I wait.