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Mayhap You Might Impale Me?
A journey sings within, you see.
Maybe the Carpathian Mountains-
home to Dra-kuh-lah- Vlad?
Mayhap you might impale me?
To feel, even once, the pain of
agony; no more for me
the comfort of
the bar fight diffused,
the argument averted,
the wolf that ran on the banging tin.
I grow weary of safety and
long for the rage within to vent,
to be be spent on the shore-
ceaseless waves pounding in fury
on rocks that don't care
and fare no worse for it.
A bruised eye or cut lip-
why not?
Is there some grand achievement
to run one's course
and pompously claim
all was gained
through civil discourse-
none taken or granted by
human ragged force?
No blood spatters
no shirt in tatters-
how very boring, of course.
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