Parts of you are made with the iron hammers of battle, wrought in twisting matrices of steel history – might and wrath set in your metallic form – old memories expressed
Cylinders hammering with the determined grit of sailors heaving oak through crashing waves, christened with the morning mist, ploughing through the air like a glimmering mace held high
Your many tiered grills glare like unwinking soldiers eyes from under studded helmets – spokes and baffles, pegs and riveted plate – sturdy armour that greets the baleful gravel foe
Smashing like spiked fists to stone walls and doors, splintering the glittering spears arrayed, slicing through layers of determined defence you swoop with leather saddled might
Arching, swerving, storming, thundering – you call on ancient powers and hold within heat hardened cauldrons, insatiable demands
sermonsfromthewasteland 