the fist

life's fist, is the size of a comet
hurtling through space for the face
of some unsuspecting victim
instead of me, i'm glad it's him

it shatters through the skin and bone
smashing the face into the ground
where there was a face now only pulp
and pulp doesn't make a sound

a burning track of destruction
lies smoldering in its wake
when the fist of life judges you
you just can't get a break

and so the broken man lies
in a heap of dust and tears
a shattered present, a negative future
add to sum of his fears


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I've not written in a long time. It's time to change that.