Bloody Ballet of the Action Assassins

        In a world where bullets sing and fists fight,
        An action opera graces screen with fateful might.
        John Wick: Chapter 4, a tale so grand,
        Created a new subgenre, fresh unplanned.
        An action opera like an opera of rock,
        Or space opera chock-full of Mach, 
        Or a soap opera so gritty it isn't pretty.
        An action opera, not itty, huge, in a big city.
        An "action opera," it was named with a cheer,
        A long-form epic saga doled out to hear.
        With Continental Hotels and High Table's decree,
        This narrative unfolds like a violent symphony.

        Oh, Baba Yaga, the boogeyman's song,
        Waging his war, where assassins belong.
        A final adversary: The Marquis de Gramont.
        Composed via scenes, a story panorama.
        Parabellum, the third act, prepared us for war,
        But Chapter 4's action opera holds so much more.
        Wick's impossible task, a crescendo of strife,
        As he fights to survive and reclaim lost life. 
        Wick boasts controlled chaos conductor clout.
        So longwinded, your breath gut knocked out.

        In all its grandness, John Wick never sang,
        But guns always rang like a choir full of bang.
        F-sharp will kill B-flat with pointed note,
        Striking a chord with rapid blow dote.
        Dance with the action macabre all night,
        On the streets of Paris, where assassins fight.
        The City of Lights, a stage set ablaze,
        John Wick's roaring rampage, daunting daze.
        A symphony of combat, a display so divine,
        Each punch and kick weave the finest fine line.

        In shadows lurk, through alleys they sweep,
        An opera of action, where danger runs deep.
        For in this action opera, no aria was heard,
        But the roar of engines and weapons concurred.
        With swift grace, they leap through the air,
        A ballet of bullets, the highest deadly affair,
        A myriad of cacophony, a ballad of bruises,
        No cessation of hostilities, ceasefires, or truces.
        A spectacle unmatched, a fierce, fiery fray,
        In the heart of Paris, the assassins blast splay.
        Cantaloupe brains exploding in bloody beat.
        Bodies left mangled like ballerina's feet.

        And as the curtain fell on this epic affair,
        The audience rose, their applause filled the air.
        For John Wick's action opera, a performance so grand,
        Will be etched in their minds, forever to stand.
        So, raise a glass to this cinematic treasure,
        An action opera—new subgenre to measure.
        An epic creation, a feat forever to favor.
        John Wick: Chapter 4, a tale forever to savor.