Centauri, The War Horse

Centauri, the magnificent white war horse,

Set out on an enchanting course,

Accursed with a burden quite unknown,

A burden put on by its own master's son.

Centauri was asked to portray his dismay,

All was said in a deep and sad neigh,

Quite frankly he tried to provide an expression,

"To be or not to be", the unanswered clarification.

Yet Centauri didn't care, he knew his oppression,

He was plagued for a lifelong submission,

Submission to war, if it ends, so does his legacy,

He made sure it never did, quite a conspiracy.

Centauri knew, As the world mourned the sad neigh,

His plans will never fail to succeed all the way,

Quite contrary to his legacy of winning battles,

The history surely omitted the handcuffs and shackles.

Many suspected Centauri of treason,

But failed as they never found any reason,

Hiding behind the innocent victim,

Centauri continues to build his world of suicism.

The time will soon come, the world will stand still,

Centauri is dead but horrors are inscribed in his will,

What legacy? There was never a curse cast on oneself,

What son? The master was killed by Centauri itself.