A fleet of Chinese kites
approaches a poised bank
of steely thunder clouds.

They march gracefully
on rolling gusts of wind;
a magnificent sight to those
observing the treacherous battle
as if it were a film.

The intricate colors pause,
eyes locked on a wall
of rumbling smoke.

Rain drops pelt their faces,
melting painted armor.
Pigment smears across a murky sky.

The roaring wind tugs on taut white twine,
and the warriors draw their weapons.

The clouds advance, quickly swallowing
a stationary army; malted puddles
rippling at their paper ankles.

Shreds of limp, dampened courage
dive downward, drowning in the
churning sea.

Lightning flashes, leaking through
the fierce, leaden haze.