Vince Wilkinson
Rattled in burns, adorned in scabs,
crowned in a helmet of steel thorns,
from which cavernous roars came.
Naked,
wrapped in barbed wire.
While wielding
a blade adorned
in flames
…a warlord
It was made to be cold,
made to work well,
not to break.
And the eyes glittered
at the sight of fire.
The flames dancing.
…So inviting
…so easy.
From the flames
the new lord emerged.
With nothing left
but the enflamed blade
and a sheer will
in his eyes.
The blade
blackened the blaze.
Blood ran down,
dripping from its edge.
And a stench
lingered.
Before decay,
and only the breeze was heard,
as the fire died
and the darkness crept over.
I’ll adorn my head with it,
a crown of steel thorns.
Rattled in burns, and scabs,
while the brow goes numb.