A Poem with at least one metaphor for my Prophets and Poetry Class

The General

The river of the seven deadly swells pressuring the dikes.
The antiquated concrete is soon to burst.

The General guides his workers to fortify the city.
Bags of reason and inspired word are placed perfectly.
Against these bulwarks of belief the river will not conquer.

Lowering his eye a worker perceives incorrectly.
Personal musings place the Word out of order.
The General’s orders are sound but the temptation is too great.
Like a virus the disorder spreads as the dikes begin to break.

Rushing forth the legion of water barrels on
But there is still hope in the fortified faith.
The General’s orders are sound and the people should be safe.

But where individual ideas infiltrated the once perfect plan
The water begins to seep through and there is a cry in the land.
Bags are stacked up higher but to no avail
The foundation has been tainted and it will certainly fail.

Caving under the weight of the rancid rancor of the fall
The wall that individuals built soon begins to crumble.
Yet those who kept their eye on the General built a masterpiece to save.
And so the people flock ferociously to the walls that will not cave.

And as the waters rise there’s tears in the General’s eyes:
For much innocence has already been lost.
And so he rallies his men to save them once again
For he has already paid the cost.