Twisted irons

Only because you made them

Ugly and bruised

As you wish

Obedient but still infuriating

Such beauty among the ashes

The remains are charred

But still you stand

Hovering near

Thunder pushing at your mind

Why won't they die?

The metal spikes in grotesque peaks

But still have luster, grace, and shape

You can't crush it

No matter the weight

It may be hurt and weak

But its dignity remains.