The Poet

Winged warrior waxing towards our heaven,
Armed in spirit, seizing this time of wrath
To soar through the pale clouds of dying men,
Yes, scorch their wretched corpses to burn a path
Up to a blazing pyre of carcasses.
Burn, char, and singe that parched wasteland of greed
Which corrodes the world and all its masses.
Oh raving beauty plant thy deadly seed
Which even now sprouts up to branch outward,
Twisting its vines around that doomed ruler
Who cries out cunningly trying so hard
To hatch a court of thieves for your murder.
But your lilting bird wing skyward to soar,
For your song shall echo forever more.