THE WAR WE CAN'T WIN

In the war against the gods .I hold a sword gallantly in my hand .With a burning desire to mark the plain .But i behold no adversary to stab .Yet the scene is hot and blood is flowing away from the vein. .How i wish i hold the triumph .Forging the hot iron into the desired shape .Making the pillar my personage carrier .For the boulevard seems trekking barefoot .Though not ignorant of the gods' sovereignty, .I feature in this under ardour's intoxication .Thus willing to prolong the evanescence of our fugitive flower .But the odyssey of this farthingale has been told .Therefore the runners are oedipus .My sword i return to sheath under no amnesty .For whichever path we trek, the gods will always have their ways.