i want to fight.

i confess it:
i feel my ribs
electric hatred
humming along
my blood vessels,
and i want
to stand
before one who will
cross me,
vex me,
dare me:

i want to strike.

Sometimes --
just now and then --
i am rushed by
rock-jawed brutes
in my brain
who want to
"settle things."

Their world
is a litigious

They push my heart up
through the ribs
and lower
a veil of blood
over my pupils

and all i can see

i watch
Inner Brute --
a companion
known to many men --

i hear his heel
strike the chin
of my tormentor,
i feel his knuckles
the cheekborne
of the oppressor --

and i realize
that all the world
is flowing through me --

So large,
this world,
so infinite
in its energies --
and sometimes,
this is the frequency
on which i come to rest:

that of battle.

i move on down
the cosmic dial,
and i do not wait for
or wait upon

the warrior.

He lives in me,
but i do not live in him.

i will embrace all of you
encircle you with my arms
and breathe you
deep into my lungs

and then,
my blood will know
the richness
of your ire.

i will not be danced upon --
not as long as i can
sing of you,
great heart
of compassion.

Beat on,
great heart.
Beat out
the rhythm
of time's ascent

Remove the barbed hook
from my heart
and my song will
never end.

-- Mr. Gobley

1 comment:

karen said...

This poem reminds me of my husband. Up here, the Redneck mentality is way more fight than flight. Very little singing, at all. Only in church. Not much else in this society causes us to reach upward and to be better for the sake of our heart.

What is the barb- of which hooks in your heart?