I  The stormy sea
					           c  of mankind does
					           a  drown in its own
					           n  vomitous wretch
					           s                  
					           e
					           e
					           A		
					         pony				The mother  screams
Metal  to  metal as		              bolts    ac		   	at child  unhearing
clashing  arms   of		             ross the plain		   	echoing   her   own
fire   shake    the		           as tongues of fire		  	mother’s     words.
molten       earth.		         shred the sky, rending		  	The       innocence
Armored      saints		        sinew, bone, and flesh in	  	of         children
salute       bloody		        conglomerate   heaps   of	   	oftimes      angers
swords,      dipped		         steamy carnage  through	    	patient      adults
in       phosphorus		        clouds  of   translucent	    	engaged          in
laden  gore.  Souls		         lights, shining meekly.	    	petty     squabbles
are  banished  from		              Murderous			    	over      forgotten
mortal lands  proud		              peals  split		    	youth.      Jealous
of their chivalrous		              pious glass		    	are    the   mature
deeds.    Mountains		             in holy altars		    	of    the      mind
peer out  into  the		             to  righteous		    	of  a young  child.
sea,  giving  light		    	     men   of  old		    	The    man    walks
to  games of death.		            seeing, making		    	screaming      out,
  All  are  pawns  in  games of kings, erasing expendible expinditures.  All hail the king.
   Amen  say  the  soothsaying  seers  to  comfort  anger  and cushion their necks.  Secret     
daggers  plot  evil  plots  hatched from secret  minds.  Through the eyes of dragons see
the  murky  pitch  of  wretched  hearts.  Mangled  children  scream  in pain as the king
passes  on  stallion  white.  Trodding  none  too  softly  on pigeon toes, he laughs and
gives  them  pennies.  Yet  far  away  the young boys learn their games of war, thinking
it  but  a  game.  A  few  years more and they will learn of blood and pain, to give and
to  receive.  Horses  scream  and  men  cry  out  in defense of the olden edifice.  Oily
scum  streams  from  heated  cauldron  dumped  on  children  freed.  Pure  breeds gallop
with  bloodied  hooves  as  gallant men wipe gore encrusted swords.  The battle is over,
the  victory  won.  But  where  is  the  pony,  with child afoot, singing innocent songs
of  youth?  Look  yonder  in  pasture,  scorched  grass  abounds through hollow and fen,
through  marsh  and  wood  deep  and  thick.  But  search  for youth in tulgy forest and
you may find it, if you dare.  They  run  in field and plain, in wheat browned by sunlit
sky.  Through  them  on  mountains,  they  scream their threats and promises.  Hills and
vales offer their voices to create panic stricken cities and towns of bourgeois comfort,
docily  living  in  mayo  houses  and huts below a lonely castle.  Thus sayeth the Lord.
Amen, Amen.