Your breath is like ashes
that flake off your lips
and your voice is the smoke
that shades an eclipse.

With words blacker than blood
you streak the sky red
and your eyes burn a fire
that devours the dead.

The white mask you model
serves a waxen shield
that born against virtue
wrecks the playing field.

Lies act as your arrows
and spite is your mace,
my steel and rusted words
crumble in their place.

But my armor’s iron
and plated with gold
so your blade won’t bite me
or melt down my mold.

This black battle you wage
with crimson-tipped spears
is all smoke and cinders
that thaw futile fears.

For the crows you unleash
to pick at the dead
leave my body intact
and tear yours instead.