-combatant-

-Daily Poetry #21, February 18, 2017-
Word: Combatant

On this makeshift battlefield, both ends taken,
Two matches that are eye-to-eye.
On one side, they spit and growl for battle,
On the other side, they sigh. 

If this is how we must end a petty battle,
Then so be it, I'll raise my weapon high. 
Pointing it to you, I'll play your games,
But I will let out another familiar sigh.

Rushing into battle without thinking once again,
You clearly haven't learned a single thing from before.
I wonder how many times we will repeat this cycle, 
But I know you'll always come back for more.

For this to end peacefully is simply a fleeting wish,
So I will end it quickly, knowing you won't ever quit.
Raising my weapon high and pointing it to your neck,
The fire in my eyes disappear, though they were once lit.

“Checkmate,” knowing that I have won this battle once again,
For God knows how many times at this point; you don't learn. 
I would say that this is an unfair battle, but I hope one day,
You'll have something to reap, something to earn. 

“I'm sorry, this battle would end if you'd forgive me.”
So I see how the game is played, I am the executioner.
No, I will not bow down to you because I know, with you as my combatant,
I will always be the winner.

Copyright © Frisk Carris | Year Posted 2017

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