Wednesday, August 19, 2009

CONTRETEMPS

So it looks as though a little blood has been drawn.  It is not as though we thought the blade had been dulled and the tip blunted; we knew the danger beforehand.  Like a Hidelburg student  bearing one or two scars of honor, we might now trust to defend our needs or to fight for our cause.    I see no one on their knees.  I only hope the taste of blood in ones teeth will put to fire all notions of the fair fight.    

Am I guilty of pulling punches?  Are we being sucker punched?   I have some spirit left.   I am not gone.   It is just you and me doing the duel.   I pace my ten steps as you pace yours.   Will your aim go astray?   Will one be true?   Too many questions and not a deep enough vocabulary to do justice to my thoughts, these dueling ideas; never mind my feelings.   I try not to describe my fears but instead bend away from your bullet, I swerve from your sword.   Your dart holds no honor, your vocal rage is as unfocused as my desire to calm it.   

I try not to fade, my resolve flaps its wings against the gale, I will not give up, fail not. No one knows whose blood has been spilled, yours or mine.   We could perhaps reach out our hands instead of sharpened steel, shake and mingle life's fluid, become instead of brothers of blood, blood brothers.

M. Paul