Poetry in Motion
A black-bladed knife, no spare metal for adornment
Grim-visaged, hard, cold, and unyielding
The first glimpse is of a man lost from humanity
A cold-hearted, hard-drinking, gunslinging wraith in his place
But the second glimpse belies that first impression.
Pale green eyes, lined with pain, red-rimmed with loss
Are not cold - instead they burn with frightening flames
Barely tempered by friendship's bonds is his need for vengeance.
The harsh, unrelieved black he wears is no affectation
It is but the sincerest, deepest morning
The scream of a soul shattered into agonizing silence.
The ever-present weapon is not the trademark tool of a murderer
It was once the emblem of a fervent deathwish
And has become the means of re-establishing the scales of justice.
His soft-spoke orders are less a piece of arrogance
Than commands from a trained, efficient leader
Who has thrown off his civilian camouflage.
For every foible he allows those with whom he works
He coerces them back onto the straight and narrow
With a glare and a softly spoken word.
Outsiders see only the harsh exterior clothed in black
The cold, expressionless tone of a commanding voice
The brutal efficiency as threats to his own are removed.
Only the inner circle of his companions see elsewise...
The whiskey glass burns as it empties, burying painful memory
Of love, laughter, joy, life, and hope tragically lost
Beneath the red embers of an obsessive rage
And the laughing man drags him from drunken destruction.
The harsh, cold, menacing glare chases away all comers
Making strong, fearless men pause seeing death before them
As it protects the battered, wounded soul within
The silent man sidesteps the glare and meets him, soul to soul.
The ancient wound within poisons and darkens the spirit
Sullying once bright potential, withering all that is good,
And enjoining bitterness and rage to reign
The fallen priest, soft-spoken and hard-tempered, cleanses the wounded psyche.
His body, constantly pushed to the edge of endurance
Wounded, battered, broken in flesh as in spirit
Wavers on the narrow edge of complete collapse
The knife-wielding healer gently bullies him into healing.
Soul hardened by despair, pain, and loss
Wielding a fast draw, uncanny perceptions, and deadly accuracy
His eyes are dead to all that is good and alive
The exuberant youth teachs him to hope and laugh again.
His mind hardened by adversity and turmoil
His vision narrowed to black and white, good and evil
His feet firmly on the path of self-righteous vengeance
The elusive trickster shows him colours, softens views, and drags him onto another path.
One Man bent on self destruction through gunfire
Awakens from despair to find acceptance of his life
The pains muted by bonds, unsought but strong
Forcing Light, Life, and hope into his existence.