a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

a pale line on a torn page
wreath sitting on his burden of rage
hands curled into massive fists
heart torn with such bitter gifts
path an illusive find
battered and scattered in his tortured mind
a jungle of emotion breathes in muscle
flexing sinew and green tattoos
eyes flecked by the honour of bruise
on skin underneath
and yet he can move that wreath
to a grave by his side
the love of surety and pride
soil turned by chaos as it writhes
foolish and real and blithe
sunlight falling easily as it will
on love and horror as they spill
unfortunate to the street
the bitumen under his feet
the doc martins polished and brown
intellect disappearing into frown
someone returns a look
the crease of wind by his left hook
as it falls harmless to block
a butcher and brawler by trade
teaches him another lesson
one of the many life has made
blood marking the place he fell.

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