Red threads of fate

Threads unspooled from flags

Flown high above the mark.

But watch her, hear her

Spitting molten iron.

I'll leave the red threads to the fools,

The banners for their noxious bearers.

Let others be entrapped by vain promises

Of love and tenderness;

Fools errands for the timid and faint of heart.

Nothing is sacred.

Nothing is pure.

All is dross.