a man in the arena

A Man in the Arena

Of Love of Death;

Like dreams they blur inside behind,

The sense beside it sleeps unrest,

A voice distressed the dual sounds,

The cry uncertain still of peace or war,

Of death,

The wicked sense of sound a murmur press,

Should take its course in speak with rage,

Between two poles; one love, of hate,

The core has severed gashed within,

Stain sounds they stand in crowds delight,

Drip down slow like stalagmites,

Of Love,

Lay down the corpse soak Blood,

Behind a blue dusk scopes a rush,

Shoots blood the noisy crushing blows,

Speak peace the tragic end to life,

Or death Like dreams they blur between

The sense of quiet ease remain to cease,

Of Love of death.

It was there; the night corner drinks and dance,

Caught into Heaven again like a green trance,

Eyes pierced stoic thick while brows play,

Your arrow sting breaks my skin like clay.