Sword

the enemy sings with soft words
weaving
spidery webs of deceit
watching, hunched, waiting
to spring when ready

watch as the sun sets how
his crouch melts within shadow
idealism
and he moves dark talons
from metallic sheaths

strike he will
book in hand scarfed and ready
his  black god lurks inside of him

we are not afraid
of his advance
armies wait for his heart
to spill on the battlefield
of silky dogmas.

Author Notes

radical

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

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