Defeat As a Mere Figure of Speech

I'm running out of adjectives tonight,
Recklessly challenging the castle walls
With pigments, figments, budgerigar calls,
And trebuchets, despite a line of sight
That's hampered by inadequate time, light,
And clarity of vision, with snow squalls
Beginning just past six, and as night falls
I stare blankly. I may give up the fight.

A drifting overlay of flake-dry snow,
Our outpost covered, isolated, stark
In deepest gloom, a ripening, fell dark,
Compounded by dim dread of what we know
About our awkward trebuchet's weak throw
Keeps us from hitting our intended mark.