Shadowboxing

My shoulders are well oiled axles,

I am the statue of fastholding,

chiseled down from black diamond by the strong hand of craftsmanship

I am chaos’s more stable second cousin,

and favored uncle to the prodigals, the profligates, the princes, and the prodigies

I am the lion’s heart beat,
the war drum’s sporadic syncopation

I am the wolf pack’s collective sixth and seventh senses,

keen on the scent of blood, fear, and impending annihilation

I will not sway to the breath of your voice
nor will I stagger at the wind your weather weaves

Advance upon me and find yourself hard pressed against calloused intolerance,
behind which is a wall,
and behind that wall,
an army

I pray you combust into flames and feathers at once should my name birth from your lips

I pray my night guardsmen have eyes of eagles,

and my trumpeteers have breaths of behemoths should you ever encroach upon my camp at dreaming hour

I promise to empress upon you pressure,
of a nature that spawns pearls, magma, and passionate revolution

But the only revolution that will come of your resistance is vertigo,
as you spiral downward into abysmal forgottenness

Now heed my words with intent lest you risk the fate of faded bewilderment

May God be my strength as I destroy you

Eviscerate you

Annihilate you

I will obliterate you until the only remnant of your very existence
is but a vague memory,

of a fleeting idea,

in a dream,

inside a dream,

inside a coma.