We do not loose anger. No fade forgets hate.
Our fountains of fury shall never abate.
Quell not, petty jealousies, malice or pride,
And bitter indignances never subside.
Forever, resentment and grudges endure.
No bloodlust of sleeve cuffs becomes more demure,
Irrational passions will never expire.
These things never leave us. We simply grow tired.
The Locker Room Boys
The locker room boys are extolling their lies
So brashly and boldly. So vainly afraid
While boasting of inches from untraveled miles
And claiming great conquests, still yet to be made.
So crassly, they banter and posture and preen,
With quick, witless, put downs and comebacks rehearsed,
Their casual quips cut from stuff of their dreams,
And clumsy score-keeping in series of firsts.
The scarring of young schoolyard sparring will fade,
As spryly wiped clean, are bruised noses that bleed.
The sadness of manhood, is like games are played,
With stains from such wounds carried forth on our sleeves.
The Locker Room Boys
The locker room boys are extolling their lies
So brashly and boldly. So vainly afraid
While boasting of inches from untraveled miles
And claiming great conquests, still yet to be made.
So crassly, they banter and posture and preen,
With quick, witless, put downs and comebacks rehearsed,
Their casual quips cut from stuff of their dreams,
And clumsy score-keeping in series of firsts.
The scarring of young schoolyard sparring will fade,
As spryly wiped clean, are bruised noses that bleed.
The sadness of manhood, is like games are played,
With stains from such wounds carried forth on our sleeves.
