How much farther will your feather of deceit carry you afloat— debauchery disguised as staunchness? At your round table, birds of the same feather gather like lost lambs, debating whether the weather itself will testify and side with their wanton plans, blind to the slaughterhouse breathing next door. They fling accolades toward you, hoping praise might spare them— filling the very hall where they await judgment. Head of Eaglehouse, shrewd in mythologized idolization, your sight was mistaken for vision: an eagle ruling the sky with borrowed clairvoyance. One summer, the dragon woke. Your talons were dragged into an early inferno, power clutching back. Eyes once clear burned orange-red before pain knocked you from the sky. You became a spectacle for your devotees— exploding brighter than any firework on a New Year’s day.