Marvel Comics: The Avengers
Beneath the vivid ink and dust of Manhattan’s skyline roar,
They gather when the threats arrive—a heavy, costumed corps.
Not just titans in the sky, nor their armor polished bright,
But fractured souls who hold the line through thickest, darkest night.
The Soldier wakes from frozen dreams, his shield a faded blue,
Carrying the weight of all those years, a steadfast, honest view.
Beside him, the armored genius hides the tremor in his hands,
A billionaire with a fragile heart, by duty’s harsh demands.
The thunderer brings a tempest’s grace, a god in mortal fray,
While green rage echoes, tearing down the shadows of the day.
The spy with secrets in her veins, the archer with his keen eye,
They fight for peace in quiet ways, not just to watch villains die.
They argue in the mansion halls, their egos clashing hard,
A family forged in battle-smoke, with scars they rarely guard.
For in this world of ink that link, the magic is not just the power,
But waking up to fight again, in humanity’s ruthless hour.
No crown they seek, no throne to claim, in iron, gold, and red,
They stand together, flawed and bold, by common duty led.
A tapestry of broken myths, yet stronger than the stone,
The Avengers stand, a scattered few, but never quite alone.
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