The deeds are done and done again.
That canter ride on jaggy lane;
It shook his bones to powdered meal.
Too dumb to say too numb to feel,
The flesh is but a salty stew.
His stagnant blood a toxic brew.

More weary than a morning drunk;
His shadow pale, reflection shrunk.
Words are strung in lame concession,
Frozen in that same expression.
His epitaph, in part will read,
"He took the blows but didn't bleed"
                                       rc