Sitting Bull

A poem that describes a warrior anticipating the fight.

Soon I will be a symphony of rage and brute force

One of the four of the apocalypse, a relentless horse.

Barreling down upon all those in my way

Those foolish enough to not run astray.

I will collide with them like tide upon shore

In this sport which resembles ancient war.

My mind set on certain death approaching,

The ball from their grip certainly I will be poaching.

 

For the madness building inside needs to be uncaged,

Yelling, Screaming, proving hes been aged.

Proving hes ready to show himself on this field today,

Standing tall above the others amongst the fray.

Relentless he drives my mind to destroy the others,

To aid he will come, to help my red brothers.

 

The marvel will be a  true spectacle to have seen

He’ll make me more dangerous than kerosene.

Rampaging through those across my path

Wishing they’ve never faced my wrath.

 

 

At the moment everything lies still

Even him, whom all week cry was shrill

Im glad hes calm now, taking in the anger ready for release,

The calm before the storm, once started will only increase.

When hes not here hes in a constant masquerade,

Hiding his face, but today his rage will cascade.

For now I feel him, inside my mind calm and full,

I feel him, dangerous, ready, the sitting bull.