I rose from the furnace with a star in my hand,
a fire‑struck wanderer claiming the land.
The crowds felt tremors in the arc of my stride....
and whispered that destiny walked at my side
From ruin I conjured a kingdom of steel,
a covenant hammered in the furnace of zeal.
My legions gathered like storms at sea,
and the world leaned back from the shadow of me
Steel was my scripture, lightning my creed;
I taught the earth how a new age would bleed.
Tanks rolled forward in tidal roar,
and nations broke on the anvil of war.
But Britain's sky refused to yield;
the storm I unleashed met a greener field.
My Stukas screamed their prophet’s curse,
diving on London in murderous verse.
London burned, but would not bend;
its heart beat bled with every rend.
And over fields where hedgerows run,
the dogfights screamed beneath the sun.
Spitfires rose like a nation’s prayer,
silver wings cleaved furious air.
They danced like fire in mortal ring....
and burned my force to a shattered thing.
For courage is louder than engines’ roar,
and freedom flies where the brave implore.
Churchill’s voice, held Britain fast,
to its name, its nerve, and now, it's past.
Poland fell in a fortnight’s fight,
Czechoslovak bent to gathered might.
France collapsed like a broken wall ...
I felt a Godlike... surging thrall.
But the East is a bog that swallows the bold;
its rivers are treacherous, its winters cold.
I marched on Moscow with prophet’s flame....
and the snows arose to erase my name.
Mud seized the wheels, ice the bone,
and the wind sang hymns of a merciless tone.
The sky turned iron, the earth turned stone....
and I learned at last to stand alone.
At Lenin’s gate, the heavens froze;
the city endured a thousand blows.
I starved its pulse, blackened the air ....
but the storm I summoned bound me there.
Deep in Sahara's burning sun,
my warriors fought as a chosen one.
Rommel's brilliance shaped the sand....
but glory died in that vanquished land.
Then came the reckoning, stark, severe:
the camps, the chimneys, the final fear.
Dachau’s silence, Treblinka’s night ....
the abyss I opened devoured my light.
My empire split like thundered tree,
and the ghosts I made came hunting me.
The crown I forged in terror's flame
returned at last to smear my name.
So let this echo bone and stone:
a ruined throne is not your own.
The rise a tempest, the fall is a knell ....
and the tyrant’s kingdom earns his Hell.'
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3 March 2026