A battle, state and inconvenient, A battle fought so acute in pride. A curse or rather plague, a fever, Nailed me to the fireside. At a crackling woods spark flight to the skies, The tempest king, he claims the throne. But halts in stride as equal legions Melt into the leaders tone. An elder king arose From blood soaked fallow battlefields With orders calm at urgent voice And reasoning as iron shields. And dreadful words it were As he spoke of abandonment Thus I shivered as the Tempest, As his fever came upon my hand. Then swords were risen by the brave As for me I rose a twig towards the skies. And no one would withdraw Ones eyes were as the fiends. All men in flames and zeal. As ire filled to burdening air. While two in brawl for the throne A third with grins on stainless cheeks In bushes watching in conceal Delighted of the bleak. At sudden startled, Dismay had dropped my twig I turned down the fireside And the last sparks of the night Lit the my paths with golden wings Sensing me and my Three Neuron Kings.
fireside, twig, tempest, fever, king