Impending Rage, a Pointless Stage
Impending rage, poised to unleash,
a penny dropped, a startled breach,
nerves on edge, limits reached,
and the vile acrid surge does leach.
Words are fired in reckless affronts,
received not well with gnashed teeth crunch,
tempers swell and egos dwell so high,
as fists do clench in white knuckled sigh.
Then in red cloud blur, those fists do stir,
and blood and bruises not deter
the rage of men, their brutal ride,
grunts and grinds and pounding slurs abide.
As eyes flashing blackened views,
one man thumping, one man moot,
bravery failing, body reeling,
bloodied nose bereft of feeling.
Until one like a redwood falls,
stiff and mindless, hits the floor,
out in blissful recommended sleep,
the other victory in ego’s keep.
Yet who has won in rages numb resolve,
what proof is there in violent sum,
a man’s measure not of first,
but surely character, what’s taken in risk.
In any case a pointless stage,
when two men find a part in rage,
uncontrolled and petty counts,
no-one wins in bloody, worthless bouts.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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True, no one wins in such an event. Tense and very well penned, Tony.
Glad you appreciated it Phyllis. Cheers!
It’s kind of Neanderthal like but, a good boxing match is always a good time. Most of the time it is meant for a release from the normal woes of society. But yeah ultimately no one wins.
Much appreciated Paul, fighting although in our DNA for survival, we are still holding on to instincts we should have evolved beyond. Cheers!