The Pit

A feral battle between two starving men That rages for ages with no knowable end. Deep in the pit, exchange blow for blow No escape, never free, forever held down below. Brown bloodied rags hang off their skin A visceral clash deep, deep therein. Deep beetled brow looks rabidly down Into hopeful pure eyes, neither making a sound The silent exchange of resolve and of blood. None else exists but man's will and the mud. Neither will die no matter the force. The fate of the men rotate in due course. There is nothing else after, and was nothing before. One wins a battle but neither wins the war. The upper hand depends on the day. A layer of flesh is with what all men pay. One man breathes red and has ruby’s for eyes. The other fights tempered with measured bled tries. Pure savage ferocity against patience and poise With the thrashing and crashing, only grit makes a noise. From just the right angle they both look the same. But the battle yet rages, they strangle for his name.