Wind-chimes and Battlements.

Air sweating humidity,        
suffered the jolt in humankind's reasoning.        
Shrewdly clinking their sloshing atomic        
structures together in celebration.        
Forming glacial silver wind-chimes        
(I never stood a chance, did you?).        
       
I stand shock-wave still.
Assembling the battlements        
with rickety mindsets;        
and a resolute acceptance        
of the impeding personal slaughter.        
Blanched out parapets readily        
infuse with meurtrieres:        
bowstrings pulled fraught    
in their strength.        
       
Arrows carved of bloodless metal,        
are fiercely stubborn;    
with an insatiable  
frenzied urge to slay.        
I allow them free rein over        
my kingdom of icicles.        
The battle has begun.