I see my hands swing in front of me, striking, penetrating, shattering the object of my blow.
The sheen on the forged metal head glitters the suns bead as it slams the course fortress layered below.
Strike after strike,
the sledge forces its way into the spaces that splits and spits out dust,
choking on itself,
taking full advantage of the weakening wall of stone.
Its gap digs deeper and opens anew.
Copyright © Mike Liquori | Year Posted 2015
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