O bitter and haterous God of spite!
Poseidon, save thy tempests fast for foes
In strength devoid and in spirit impaired.
Foul born fruits of rancorous loins, this stir
Thou cast, is weak at best, defiled and soft,
Begrimed in turbid waters, guised by stout
Gusts, fickle as fine, feminine nature.
Thy tasks I shall face, with valiant grace,
and may one suggest, for thy face to save,
that it be wise for a trifling knave to
Direct thy scornful slings and arrows cross
T'ward the regal game that smites thee proper.
Or perhaps, hater of all things righteous
And those of stature bad-ass, it is I
Demanding of disparagement, since I
Surmount thy squalls with my diligence due
And treat thy tumult as trite and timeworn.
For what thou may believe a daunting task,
This paladin perceives as no great feat:
"Just another day livin' in the hood,
Just another day around the way", G.
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