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Ritual Pain

Watch that shadow
As a young child
The first time the figure appeared
A shot of sunlight
Streaks the room
Legs, arms, baseball cap
That nearby wall became
A shadow-boxer’s ring
Much like looking in a mirror
Our world collides
In ego, pride, self-righteous
Ritual pain …
That need to qualify
In a scream, shout
Breath-taking assault
We take no pleasure
When the match begins
The wall no longer rings the boxer
Instead, the separation foreboding
Quiet remorse
Realizing the ritual
The confusion, the anger
That seething rationale
Creating the energy released
Into an atmosphere of rage
Where is the shadow now?
That allows pretention
To be an aside that humors
The human condition in motion
Impulse, that dagger of reaction
Vague memory of loss inside the ritual pain

Thom Amundsen

About poetreecreations

I am an author writer publisher web administrator I run poetry workshops in the community. My published Manners childrens poetry book can be found at

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