The Sublime Objects

How unsettled daylight of late afternoon permeates, the uncertainty riddled barricades,
Whence slogans resonate to rouse the blind who meander, and fail to discern the shades,
That've sparred so long yet fade in transit, from murderous days to suicidal nights;
What's to save them now that they are what they fought, but perhaps for love's sweet respite...

Battle-weary ranks flock graffitied bunkers, and await their leader's address,
August in defeat they proudly disavow, coaxed by damsels in distress,
So in humble subjugation they beguile their lovers, yet the stoic noble prince shall refuse,
To be swindled by waves to promiscuous tides; he stays secured to his muse.

Anxious she waits the battle-weary knights, courts the league of perverse admirers,
Her knees give away no matter how she tries, as fantasies cloud her desires,
So eternally resigned to feminine romance, to caress the surly savage slayers,
To scream smothered neath their bloodied busts, whilst ravished in her nightmares.

He hails from the shadows to cushion his goddess, so consumed in amorous hysteria,
Yet it's loveless worship of the vanquished she sees, as she wakes to dissident dysphoria,
So hark the housebroken who rage against masters, and reconcile in eloquent sobriety,
"Oh twilight of irony now the soulless bend the knee, to we sublime objects of virility!"