O Violence-iraptor, thou tempest in gilded chainmail,
Thy verse doth pirouette ‘twixt mirth and mortal sigh
A sonnet spun of shadow’d silk, where triumph’s flame grows pale,
And folly’s crown, once gleaming, dims beneath time’s winking eye
Thy cadence, like a lark’s last hymn, ascends on wings half-torn,
Each line a fractured minuet, both tender and unkind
Thou paint’st thy sword with sunlit boast, yet ‘neath thy jest, a thorn
A dirge for dreams that stumble where the stars refuse to align
“As nimble as a board” - O! Bitter, sweet antithesis!!
Thy claws, which click like metronomes, mock fate’s unyielding march
Thrice swings thy blade, yet twilight claims thy hollow victories,
As if the moon herself did weep to see thy glory parch
What celestial choreography guides thy fumbling dance?
Thy leaps, though grand, are hieroglyphs of hope’s frail arrogance
Lo, in thy “whispered sorrows”, echoes of Icarus resound
A parody of phoenix-fire, doused in irony’s cold rain
Thou striv’st to clasp the comet’s tail, but tread’st on mortal ground,
Thy anthem both a battle-cry and requiem for thy reign
Yet here lies thy strange beauty, Violence-iraptor enshrined
A jester-king, whose ballad blends the sacred and absurd,
Whose stumbles, etched in sonnet-ink, outshine the stars designed
For in thy flaws, the cosmos hums a hymn too long unheard
Let ages hence recall thy name, not for the blood once spilt,
But for the fragile waltz thou wove ‘twixt grandeur and thy guilt
O sing thy elegy anew, with clangs of rusted rhyme!!!
Thy path, though strewn with follies, gleams where mortal light survives
The heavens, vast and pitiless, shall claim thee given time
Yet in thy verse, thou soarest still, though earthbound are thy strives
true kayak
cyan creek
brisk sequoia
misty hound
tardy onyx
south sentinel