I'm no poet

If there was just one, one to take back, it'd be you.
My first love and my first move.
You taught me to play my pawns in the perfect formation.
Dodging the Queen ever way we could.

However, she made me feel like just that.
I was a pawn. Neither a Knight of glory nor a Bishop of rule.
But you, you were the jester that brought a smile to this pawn's face.
You were my Princess and I your Prince.

I felt deemed to be your savior from the wicked Queen.
She struck you, leaving bruises on your wrists.
But, you could never leave. Leave what you had made. Leave what you knew.
You tried once, but I was not there to catch you and keep you.

I was not meant to save you.
Our journey had been wearisome and treacherous, but as much as I wanted to,
I was not meant to save you.

Our love dyed along with your hair.
The blonde turned black over night.
The phone stopped ringing and the letters stopped coming.
Even the postal service knew something was wrong.

I've been in prayer for you since then.
You're different now. You're more like her.
Your face tattooed on his arm in exchange for a ring.
I guess what you're wanting is what you're getting.

It seems as though you believed mother knew best.
The love was once so strong that our roots could break the ground like
Any hammer swung by the arms of John Henry himself.
But, you let the machine win didn't you?

"Was my kiss too weak?
Were your eyes too tired?
And much too young to be in love?
Much too young to be in love?"

If there was just one, one to take back, it'd be you.
But, you're not here.
The one I loved died years ago.
She's nowhere to be found among the black.