Broken Blades [835]

When we once stretched our hands into the air
To shatter streams of insubstantial sky,
The wind would shriek with rage as it swept by,
As if affronted such as we would dare
To raise into its realm a mortal stair,
Assault the cloudy gates with trefoil scythes,
And reave away an unentitled tithe
Of power from its elemental lair.

Now fields of broken blades and fallen masts,
And rusted turbines, nevermore to spark,
Decay with every mock the cruel wind casts.
I pass my youth among corroded parts,
Salvaging the wreckage of the past,
A scavenger of glory, and of hearts.

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