Poetry Day 6

The Conquest

 Shouts echoing across the grass
Softly churned to mud beneath metal shod feet,
Flags flutter, caught in a cruel wind,
Whipping the onlookers into a frenzy of noise,
Congratulations and curses fly,
Colours clash, faces hit the earth,
Blood is let, bruises bloom,
Limbs twist, breath kicked skywards.
The jousting ground?
The rugby pitch.

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