There, in ink and sweat we set our rules of engagement. Honour bound and sacrament.
Then in the raging fire your bore a break, to every line, to prove your feigned stake.
You rattled my armour, melted my plastic soldiers, but if this thing we have dies, it’s on your shoulders.
Maybe it’s just been so long that you thought the rules of engagement had changed, time may pass but my vowels cannot be rearranged, for a convenient future … where you upstand in the platinum reign.
D December 2018