poem: Strike Me (Fair-Weather)

Strike Me (Fair-Weather)

Strike me

I know it is your way to wound

In fair-weather

To hide your quiver

And in the downpour

To produce it and aim.

You beat your prey down to a pulp you can digest

Then spit it out…

Then wave the white flag…

Strike me

Fair-weather guardian

Tug the chain

To return me to your range.

But when the links break

And you lose your target, cry.

“Abandonment” in all its synonyms

You spit me out

You wave your flag

Strike me

How dare I escape the pain

I am a Coward!

How dare I hide from you

Or dare to seek shelter

From the maelstrom (Hell’s Wrath)

My soul is so colored from your attacks

It aches and trembles to touch.

You’ll spit out nothing now

And I will ignore your flag.

(c) 2011 Luz Briar.