Poem-A-Day: Day 63

Gangland

Surfing plowshare tides
of irrefutably futile systems
and warring tribulations
amongst the kings, counts and barons.
The banners, held high,
and left like the mark of the beast
on white castle wall
in an act so territorial,
that god himself has had favor in it.
But when the blunderbuss
and canonical smoke
recedes in hairline fractures,
the banner colored red reflects
the royalty that past proceeds to future.