charging with an outstretched lance,
its reach like the extension of bone and muscle,
stalwart, its tip;
the impact, satisfying.
whether glancing blow or crushing penetration,
there is no rush like the glory of laying waste to your opponent,
watching it crumple and tumble to the sodden earth
forced to look up at you against the gleaming sun,
burdened with the searing light of your ferocity









