A fist used to pound and smack
to smash and wack, to grind the
white flavorless dough from
fields of broken gravel,
crumbled by the passing of time,
flooded by hopeless tears as it
shoves it's seed into stone.

Clenching tightly white-knuckled,
as if to hold desperately to kindness
long left, or never given.
A ****** callused and raw fist,
scared sick and confused, proceeds
to knock the wind from the earth.

Never will the fist be opened
to caress the face of it's mother,
to halt it's careless helpless tantrum
of being, to quit the flogging and be selfless.
A fist so ****** will only end
in a flailing fury of bewilderment,
into the golden flash of it all.