Fuhrer

A poem about the video game Wolfenstein 3D

I've cut a swath through their bleach-blonde ranks
    Through their symbol of perversion
       Anti-trust, anti-luck; a nation in despotic turmoil
   And I, the heroic spy turned captive

Once held prisoner in the dank depths of the Castle
 My guns lit my path open
  Each stray metal strand unlocking the doors
           to freedom

My feet fall about and around
 the crumpled masses of beiges
blues, whites--"Mein lieben!"--
   sounding their death-knells at my heels

   Grosse and Schabbs cry streaks of crimson
 Felled by the spion of the 50 stars
 Their foot-soldiers, their officers, their mutant
    mutes play their parts in my endless
  march towards their heart

I stand before der Fuhrer
   clad in metal and chain
 His arms wield death akimbo
  and the walls behind me now pockmarked
                      with his rage

He, too, now kneels before me
   The great hero
 Conqueror of a madman
   And icon of generations to come