This is the second segment of the "create Minato's canonically awful poetry" commission that I took from Twinstars.
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The Sinister Seventh Chronicle
Spin, spin, the blinding winds of autumn's day
These the winding ways of air and sky
First, second, third the times I say my wish
Neither word nor image captures my need to fly
May I ever craft a jutsu strong enough to lift
Me far above this, the quarter wheel of earth's great compass
Loft'd high and far until I turn my face down to greet the sun
Spin, spin I shall, to widdershins and deosil both alike
Weather smiling bright or yet weather raging dark and loud
Fly far shall I, and never again kneel to reflect
Upon the searing light of truth, nor never yet this, the painful weight of history
Strong First, brilliant Second, wise Third, but now a straw-filled useless Fourth
Nor the boundless gyre of times agone, this mortal world whence they're from
Twisted and tangled, its pathways trod 'til packed, hardened, beaten down upon, and the light to blackness fall
Chance or fate, a hand upraised is either greet or slay, what is wrong or right?
Fire's Will, the choice to hope, a future bright and shining white, closing, nearing and then
Blossoming. A dream to come, a hope in which to dwell, thought upon thought upon a stack
of longed-for desire. My love, my child, my teacher/hero, my village all, all my strength bent to them
A life of service is the first bargain I ask of fate, love the second, life a distant third
My life an ode shall be, a tale carved in stone and fire, to grant to youthly minds the image
Of their due, their duty, their needed deeds. Honor's strident burn is quenched by service; this my lesson to dwell upon
This morseled wisdom torn from time's grasping, greedy claws, my final words to thee: Of your high-stacked choices, keep love at top.