Tilts and toughenings.

A fort under siege,
A surge upon itself,
Embattled. Imperiled
Within.

What days have past
With some peace,
In nothing but a song?

Fortified with mud,
And fools penetrate.

A break.

The breaking of late,
Warts entwined with blood.

Their stems growing long
And won't cease,
Given their past

Within.
In battle, in peril,
The reach of the self
Can't fashion a bridge.

Toughenings are tilting.