| Poem |
 |
Cauldron Born by I.F Garmiss
 (1 rating)
|
A fracture born in cauldron of iron, so strong it stands, so proud.
A monument to staunch resistance, painted fierce and true.
I am that Cauldron, sought so well, for it's powerful shroud.
A trick to keep the masses at bay, a white lie for the horrible shrew.
I am against the wind of Storms, I am against the ram.
They batter and thunder dark fury and roar, white Rage against my dam.
I house within a terrible mix, a twist of bane and fell.
For none other might hold such contents bare and live past two solemn bell.
My rage as froth, my eye as spoon, combustion come to the stage.
But for that fracture, in my form, that seeps and weakens my Rage.
I would boil forth and charm this land, to bow to knee and fear.
But for that fracture, breaking me and curtailing me.
Slaughtering all I seek to be.
A berserker in my consistency.
In iron made of my flesh, an enemy so near.
| |
