The cowards and the Bull

what we think we see

is a bull

a specimen,  strong

as a bull can  be

but in point of fact

behind the scenes

its been tortured actually

its horns are defiled

its eyes are skewered

its blood loss is a lot

its a very angry frustrated

bull

fit,  No!  it is not

the ridiculousness

not apparent

the absurdity is there

grotesque and kind of clownish

its all there in the air

a tasteless tawdry spectacle

a disconsolate affair

a hopeless comfortless expressionless

picture of despair

the entourage has softened

up the creature he is tense

in pain and very sore as well

but he can now see sense

tortured they have sunk their knives

into his broad back

all his spirit has been sapped

he’s kind of on the rack

he’s nervous and apprehensive

but never overawed

the satin clad young matador

hopes he wont be gored

I for one am hopeful

that this prancing dancing queen

will feel the horn

and see the dawn

for he has never been

close to the bull’s brave aura

with his cloak of gold and red

prancing like some sick cartoon

what is in his head

I dislike his revolting manner

his uncaring point of view

his brazenness, his pomposity

his foppish garish brew

the effrontery and petulance

the brashness that he holds

resigned to humiliation

as the battle thus unfolds

the audience is on the case

a blast with echoes we

suffer with our eardrums

the exclamations  be

irregular and forbidding

the culture of those who

live and die in Spanish rings

ravaged by the few

the wailing of the spirit

the waning of the heart

the whining of the creatures throat

as the woefulness does start

a lamentable creation

we elegize and we

cannot explain its wretchedness

and its loss of gravity

crestfallen looking haggard

eyes bleeding red and sore

a sea of inflammation

and embarrassed even more

unable to strike heavily

under enormous strain

and blood loss like a storm surge

a burden in the brain

more knives are out

more blades are sunk

a gushing feeling there

the lungs are full of mucus

which nobody’s aware

the victim was a bold knight

mortified and lost

impoverished by mounting stress

at an ever growing cost

the bull fight lacking culture

revolting to be sure

detestable behaviour

I mean whats it all for

really there’s no purpose

its functionless and wrong

it has a marked  irrelevance

which is with me all along

motiveless and skittish

erratic in a sense

indisposed to struggle on

and try to leap the fence

hit out at the audience

draw their wrath and blood

trample over children

and cause really a flood

of tears and fears and wounding’s

the severity is seen

the doggedness of wanting

always to look mean

the untruthfulness the lying

the deception of it all

the swindling skulduggery

when ones back is against the wall

more knives are thrust in anger

more blood is spilled for we

can feel the weakness creeping into

what our eyes can see

the ambush of the devils

the trip wire pulling taut

the guileful artful cunning

that clearly now is sought

Bullfighting a misnomer

an untruthfulness to boot

an evasion of what we can see

a distortion at the root

its all about an illusion

a betrayal they conceal

hugger mugger cloak and dagger

his fate they surely seal

there’s no fight

it was over before it all began

premeditated murder

everything to plan

random acts of valor

sometimes spring to be

but most bulls die of loss of blood

and trauma actually

they sink down on the hot sand

hallucinating there

passing the blood through their lungs

this then is despair

the agony of torture

the  delirium creates

the certainty of ending

which rapidly placates

the wounded soul sinks slowly

eyes rolling side to side

and passes over silently

as its spirit is applied

Hathor  is the warrior God

who listens from on high

who suffers what the bulls now suffer

just before they die

the excruciating trauma

the abject shafts of pain

the sudden strength of motion

that really is all in vain

but Hathor wakes and grinds her teeth

and wants to show her wrath

to take the spirit of each bull

and guide it down a path

to temperance and self restraint

whilst the matadors will be

injected  with a satanic bug

and die in agony

shaking bodies breaking

and exploding violently

There must be, no other outcome

for this entertainment, we

are witness to a murder

to a torturous agony

to taking out a strong one

a very powerful soul

by preliminary incursion

that really took its toll

Hathor she is on the case

and all Bulls will be seen

to realize the inevitable

when they see the dancing queen