The storm

The rain  has hit on my windows   with great force
Like the horns of bulls  toss bloody matadors
The Spanish rites acquaint us with  our lacks
For in the end we by a horse are dragged

The bull is strong with open fearsome eyes
But in the end it  is the bull that dies
Helplessly  he runs and he rotates
Strength and helplessness are not good mates

The matador takes risks to taunt the beast
From a snack  he  makes us a great feast
Better to   be eaten by a  man
Than make a meal for worms  when death has come

Men may claim they’re strong and great and  pure
In the end it’s  wits that have most power

I welcome comments and criticism

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.