Hyenas Are Made of Brave Men
Hand and brick in vicious cycles meet.
amidst ash and rubble.
Standing tall with an intent to maul,
He attempts to rid himself of it.
Swelling and burning in sweltering heat
that infiltrates the troubled mind
make a glorious monument covered in cracks.
By all measures, he’s all set to collapse.
To mend he must kill the part
of him that feels
his death and defeat
as things to concede.
But in the absence of care,
and an excess of fear,
Hyenas are made of brave men.
And in the death grip of drought,
and a thirst quenched with tears
There's only one bed and it's
the crocodile's tongue. ♦