Round Two
The world becomes colored streaks,
whipped like haphazard strokes
of a paintbrush on canvas.
My perfect art is marred.
The artist is not I, but he stands above me,
arms poised long and high as if he could reach
the gold between the clouds above him,
its beams not meant for me.
A clashing symphony of cheers and jeers erupt,
conducted by the intense wave of his arms
as he sits center stage on the pedestal formed by
outreached hands waiting to touch Victory.
The sun sets, the gold is gone.
I won't accept the silver beams for consolation.
On a new day, a new phase, the moon will
console another face.
A withering branch offers me its hands,
the first step for a chance to recover
before another rematch
for unrelenting revenge.
I'll paint the outcome of our next battle
with the golden flames
you took with you today.
I'll paint this trial by fire because I will
be the next victorious martial artist.
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A/N: Believe it or not, I wrote a Street Fighters poem for class due to lack of ideas and motivations at the time. It was also during the SFIV release so everyone was pretty hyped about it. I've revised this poem three times and this is the final result. Basically, it can relate to any of the fighters since I didn't associate this poem with a particular person when I wrote it. Thoughts/comments are much appreciated in a review. Thanks for reading!