The Conflict between the Bull and the Matador (Inspired by my Brother Lone Wolf)

A Matador lies gored
and lays there lifeless
the audience gasps loudly
that the Bull
should have been despatched
much quicker actually
a sloppy killing doesn’t have
the pull
it has to be one thrust
and reach the vital part
Not dilly dally letting
the poor soul
suffer life, it’s tougher
for the Matador, as well
He has to be in complete
control.

Lying in a heap
his body broken
The Bull on top of him
A bloodied mess
swords a dangling
almost every which way
Clearly undergoing
massive stress
but in the throes of death
still really able
to use his horns
to rupture and to cause
massive damage to the
witless human
Who should be standing
bowing as applause

rings around the stadium
the vanquished
lying at his feet
and leaking life
to see this famous Matador
underneath the bull
also bleeding
causes far more strife
The crowd are baying
for the blood
but clearly
the Bull has taken
umbrage to it all
Has gored him and has
fallen down upon him
and that is not what happens
as a rule

I have no sympathy for those
who persevere, with killing
Bulls for their own financial gain
their ego’s very high
perhaps high as the sky
and its only right that really
They share pain
The Bull is dead before it goes
into the ring
its time is up
its clock is running slow
The cuadrilla with their pikes
and swords and spears
and god knows what
are going to weaken him
as we all know

his loss of blood, his agony
his pride, his power
and everything he’s got
will be reduced
by all this aggravation
which is no consolation
his soul and life force
has been so wrenched loose

up steps the wondrous Matador
his cloak of red
his purple tights
his evil smile
not with standing
what we see
dancing like a cockerel
around a broody hen
The Bull is on his last legs
actually

frothing wildly
some inner strength
apparent
a deep and devilish roar
a vile rebuff
desolation witnesses
the agony
snorting as its movements
are enough
head down its impact
causes such confusion
the panic of the crowd
and people who
are supposed to be around
to now protect him
but realize his
life is ebbing too

Months later
after various operations
The Matador though battered
Walks away
one eye he left
upon the bloodied sawdust
with his cheeks and mouth
most surely he did pay
his body bent and broken
from the lumbering
the Bull whose legs
had weakened as it fell
despite the awful memories
He was still alive
The Bull though
had been carried off to Hell

Many thrusts of pike
and swords and blood loss
cut up out of sight
and tortured so
Bring on another
hapless soul
and another Matador
Spain loves all these
bloody sights
and expects some more

Dressed up, like
a dogs dinner
another striding goon
clad in silks and satins
strides to the same tune
the trumpets sound
the thunder of the
Bull, its clattering feet
a cry goes up
the crowd believe
that nothings now discreet
the swords go in
The Matador delivers
and a soul
flies into oblivion
bowed to the control

The strutting sentinel
of silk
struts his stuff and bows
the crowd give voice
clearly the choice
they appreciate his powers
the bull lies dead
a pool of blood
and is dragged away
and so
another innocent
youthful Bull
is despatched
and so the show
goes on and Spain is guilty
of acts that celebrate
a vileness and a sordidness
that man still doth
create
that it be a family outing
that women also go
Is to me a sad reflection
on our time on earth
you know
it is a family outing?
imagine the message here
I am very sorry for the Bulls
For this is one sick show

That can’t go on much longer
it descends into the dark
into the violent abyss
the methods used are stark
agonisingly difficult to watch
and come away
with the blood and the snot
of the vanquished
on their conscience
for a day