Arcing fire burning through,

White-hot and screaming,

First shot’s a warning to close and leaves them reeling.

Tormented soul, twisted in on itself

Suffers the worst of the heat

And arcing back it signals to all

The time has come to call retreat:

“Retire in penitence!

                Shuffle to your end!

                                You are defeated,

Broken as you could not bend!”