Moscow II
As swift assaults endeavored to prevail,
the magnitude of death was asinine.
‘Twas such a toll above a measured scale
that no explicit value could define.
As battles raged, no exploit could surmount
the endless waves that fell within the storm.
Such tolerance exceeded Heaven’s count
and thus, infinity became the norm.
But still they charged into the depths of hell
with nothing but eternity ahead.
Though cannons rang the sounding of the knell,
‘twas not the time to stop and count the dead.
A trident wave vowed nothing would remain
but though impaled, the bear would rise again.
But though impaled, the bear would rise again
maneuvering to stall the Devil’s spear.
It stood abreast to fight deceit’s disdain
with no intent to ever bow in fear.
And as its body suffered in the clash,
its fierce resolve withstood each brutal blow.
Though blood would pour from ev’ry piercing gash,
its heart supplied a never-ending flow.
This fiend is peckish, never satisfied,
and ever seeks to satiate his ire.
But satisfaction stands to be denied
when battling a never-ending fire.
And though its body faltered from assail,
its battle-weary heart withstood the gale.
Its battle-weary heart withstood the gale
of unrelenting wails from fire and steel.
Such irony his Typhoon wind would quail
within the icy grip of winter’s chill.
The Crimson bear withstood the fusillade
then persevered to press the forging waves,
in forced retreat, his mighty legions frayed
as rivers, hills and vales became their graves.
The tolls of death shall always be too great
when arrogance pursues its pyrrhic aims,
for cold contempt shall underestimate
incompetence that fans the warring flames.
Though despot greed was ever seeking more,
conceit had railed then faltered at the door.
Conceit had railed then faltered at the door,
as dire attrition compromised the quest.
The feckless Bear had proved to be much more
and winter’s wrath had put them to the test.
Ferocity held fast against the goal
of Hell’s intent to pierce the ursine heart.
As consequence of venture took its toll,
his confidence began to fall apart.
‘Tis only time before regrets devour
the arrogance that lended to this deed,
‘tis only then, within his final hour,
this devil lets the treachery concede.
A swift defeat would be the battle cry,
his Crimson trophy, stoic hearts deny.
His Crimson trophy, stoic hearts deny
though still the devil ravages the East.
His raging fires of fury amplify
as iron and steel are savagely unleashed.
And though the bear had kept him from its heart
its ravaged body agonized in pain.
From all the evil Satan would impart,
all of Russia wore its bloody stain.
But still defiance held intent at bay
as Satan sought to break the ursine will.
Relentless ire would rise again each day
in ceaseless waves to face his iron and steel.
The devil’s due had failed to breach the door
and all the world would change forevermore.
Copyright ©
Mark Massey
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