At once I am shielded with shafts of alloyed metal
raised above my sweaty forehead,
extended, ascended for the welcoming,
skyward for the butchering,
I am blessed with overpowering supremacy.
Impinge not, chance spoiled, I reign ultimately
with crushing mind and ponderous lengthy cast.
Speak in vain, strike to try, prepare for lowering
of my blade, fool with me and die;
stand I in lucid stillness as a quadruplet of trouble-
tolerant goons oppose a non-threatening,
nothing-to-do-with face.
I refrain listening for closer ear-fulls of discouraging words,
torrid dryness of tongued remarks, as I anticipate
death for them all; What becomes of these combating words?
"What's wrong with him"?
One man says.
"He looks to be limp",
another scorns.
I
twist with a "ooh" pause for a second and gasp:
"The Hell with you,
I'm coming to do,
listen to me!
I'll run you through"!
Circle and glide,
four men from all sides
alter my run
from opening of sun.
Trapped with limited space,
surrounded by several faces,
the only way free
is to battle and seethe,
bring down the iron forever protecting me.
There is an adrenalin surge,
as I am scared at first,
my body touch-sensitive and weird,
trembles with fear,
them and I face-to-face, eye-to-eye
scoping the other pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide;
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
contemplate, watch their face;
Who will deliver? Who will die?
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.
Number one begins his plunge;
I cleverly out-fox his run
guiding him to collide with a concrete wall;
Assuming my sword,
I stab him twice through the floor;
He dies at the base of the wall.
Soon number two jumps me from behind
engraving my arm with a keenly felt grind,
brandishing symbols of an enemy weapon.
Swiftly I rotate to thrust him away,
feeling the edge of a poisonous blade.
I injure him not once, not twice, but thrice,
as he falls to the ground lifeless in a pool of blood.
Witnessing demise of his assaulting comrades,
three snuck up on me, hacking,
grazing, gashing my cleansed face.
I, conscious of the semi-prosperous touch,
recognize the sun's rays as it's fiery beams
fall upon my foe-inflicted wound.
"Ouch," I cry, the glowing light is infecting
the flesh that internally, externally harnesses
the symbolic scratch. The attempt contaminates
my once flawless skin. "Ooh, oh", I moan. "It hurts,"
"it stings,", I momentarily shout in pain. There is
no time for shame. I must regain my
energizing flare for punks that stare. I must pick
myself up, dust myself off, charge them for my laceration,
their mutilation, my destination.
Craziness loiters about my head as sounds of
voices speaking insanely between my ears. I, hearing strange
voices rupture my thinking with gentle disturbing whispers,
burst into neurotic functions as they brain-wash me;
"Kill Them," they say.
"It's your only chance for escape".
As some of them ask me to do away with the opposition,
others chastise and torch, my body breaking out in chills;
"All right! All right! I'll do it!
I'll do it! Just leave me alone!"
I am driven up the walls passed the brinks
where I shall take lives of those who choose
to fool with my brain. Based on my actions,
I grasp my sword handle, swing dangerous steel over-head,
lodging sharpness into his chest, pointed-tip and jagged-edge.
I twist and turn until i can see agony of life's end written
all over his face. With a downward thrust I extract
his heart from his stomach and he drops to the pavement
in perpetual rest, stiff at the feet of his previously defeated mates.
Alas be still, as I and the leader of the bunch
square off for victory of life, suffering of passing;
him and I face-to-face, eye-to-eye, observe the other
pace-by-pace, glide-by glide:
Circle-and-glide, circle-and-glide,
face-to face, eye-to-eye;
Circle-and glide, circle-and glide,
contemplate, watch his face;
Who will deliver? Who will die?
Circle-and glide, circle and glide,
face-to-face, eye-to-eye;
Circle-and-glide, circle-and glide,
pace-by-pace, glide-by-glide.
An itchy reflex occurs as he thrust a perry to my head.
I duck to lift him to a higher place, picking him up by his legs.
With all my might, I throw him crashing to the wall where
two other slayings have taken place before him. He rises from
the earth and runs towards me for another try, drawing blood
from a minor wound. I, possessing looks of a pride-concealer,
gloat, challenging the man to continue forth to let loose the
blood inside me. He accepts my dare. He parries forward with
earlier attempted charge. I block his run with a downward fist
jarring his weapon away from him. He is trapped like some
wild animal between "the wall where dead men fall" and the
blade that drains the life-sake from evildoers. Maintained
within a nightmare, brain, hand manifested by himself,
there is not even a smaller means of get-away. Exhilarated
over extreme potency I exert on him, I ogle the suffering,
squirming, groveling he feels from my presence.
"Please don't put me to death,
pointed-tip and jagged-edge," he says.
I say, "OK, I shall let you live,
minus pointed-tip and jagged-edge.
As he rotates his back-side away from me,
I betray my words and give him a jolt
through the kidneys, pushing, twisting,
turning until pointed-tip and jagged-edge
reaches the opening, ventral portion of the
abdomen. With his kidney dangling from
pointed-tip, I rush around to the front to
pull pointed-tip and jagged-edge out through
his wasted gut. Then I plunge my piece through
him again, pointed-tip and jagged-edge,
lodging my piece fatally into his heart. He falls
dead along with his mates at the wall where dead men fall.
Dead men fall, dead men fall,
at the wall, all-and-all;
Dead men fall, dead men fall,
all are gone, fall-by-fall;
Dead men fall, dead men fall,
wait for long, be certain their gone;
Who will profit? Who shall don?
Dead men fall, dead men fall,
at the wall, all-and-all;
Dead men fall, dead men fall,all are gone, fall-by-fall.
Paul Hickey
2-6-12
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