The Fighter

Fighting with words
is the most pointless struggle .
Yet we struggle
barely breaks the morning.
Too many , I bit .
Some , such strong
such as wild boar .
I do not think me mad .
If it were, would
power to enchant them .
But lucid and cold,
show up and try
pick some
for my livelihood
a day of life.
They get mended
silly to caress
and sudden flee
and no threat
3 and there is no ill-treatment
that bring new
the center of the square .
Insist, solerte .
Seeking to persuade them .
Be unto them slave
rare humility.
keep confidentiality
of our trade.
Voice , no brake
of anger or disgust.
No hear me slide ,
pervade zero-footprint
and saw my face .
Fighting with words
seems fruitless .
Do not have flesh and blood ...
However , mourning.
Word , word
(I say exasperated )
if you challenge me ,
accepted the fight .
Wanted to possess you
this wasteland ,
unscripted nail
or brand of tooth
this light skin .
Prefer the love
possession of an impure
and the joy that comes
the greatest torture.
Fight melee ,
grief all the time,
no greater benefit
Hunt the wind.
No robes meeting
unsafe ways ,
enemy is fluid
me flexing muscles
and laughs of standards
the good fight .
Delude myself sometimes
envision that delivery
be consummated .
I see words
in a subdued chorus ,
offering me this
your old heat
That Your glory
made of mystery
another his disdain ,
another his jealousy ,
and wise love
teaches me to enjoy
of each word
captured the essence ,
the subtle whine .
But alas! is the moment
the half-open eyes :
between kiss and mouth
it evaporates .
The cycle day
sometimes it follows 8
and useless duel
never resolves .
Your beautiful face ,
O word esplende
curve in the night
involving all me .
such passion
and no nest egg .
The doors were shut ,
the struggle continues
sleep on the streets .