Raging Bull

 

Like ice-cold snow stubborn against the sun,

He will not give in; the fury will not dissolve away.

His rage for this life has many on the run,

He never marvels at why they don’t stay.

 

Entombed in a place that brings him little peace,

This place that breathes in the corner of his mind.

But at the bottom of every acidic bottle, a release,

And perhaps responses to questions he cannot find.

 

The liability he places upon himself alone,

And lives upon his anger turning to sorrow.

Just another day existing, in part, as a drone,

And he could look onward to the morrow?

 

His always unafraid act will keep him from pain,

His one true foe drives his life from day to night.

For his foe, you see, stands in the mirror again,

His reflection is the only opponent he needs to fight.

 

She recognizes now, she must fear this bull,

The shade of red is all she sees within his eyes.

How can she advise if his goblet is already full?

And his thoughts are buzzing around like flies.

 

Someday he may understand the treasured heart,

Of she who cast light into his shadowed world.

And his barricade which shreds bonds apart,

Will crumble down like one million pearls.

 

With a gentle graze of lips upon his wooly cheek,

She promises this beast but one solitary thing more.

Though no bull should ever sense himself as weak,

You have become less human today, than before.