A battle, state and inconvenient,

A battle fought so acute in pride.

A curse or rather plague, a fever,

Nailed me to the fireside.



At a crackling wood's spark flight to the skies,

The tempest king, he claims the throne.

But halts in stride as equal legions

Melt into the leader's tone. 



An elder king arose

From blood soaked fallow battlefields

With orders calm at urgent voice

And reasoning as iron shields.



And dreadful words it were

As he spoke of abandonment

Thus I shivered as the Tempest,

As his fever came upon my hand.



Then swords were risen by the brave

As for me I rose a twig towards the skies.



And no one would withdraw 

One's eyes were as the fiend's.

All men in flames and zeal.

As ire filled to burdening air.



While two in brawl for the throne

A third with grins on stainless cheeks

In bushes watching in conceal

Delighted of the bleak.



At sudden startled, 

Dismay had dropped my twig

I turned down the fireside

And the last sparks of the night

Lit the my paths with golden wings

Sensing me and my Three Neuron Kings.