War Song (Sonnet)

I cried into the petals of a flower

On the bank of Echo’s lake.

The debris of my tower,

sundered by sour drake,

 

line my burial mound

and, how I long to lay down.

Please select the serpent you crowned

Gurgled the jester’s nervous breakdown

 

So I grabbed the incarnadine blade

Of the patron saint of drunk vomit,

A True renegade aimed for the stockade

Where children sing of the burning sodomite

 

And I began the trek to dragon’s lair

Curious about winning a intellectual post-mortem Croix de Guerre

One thought on “War Song (Sonnet)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s