Cold eyes stare
Outward and searching,
Covered by bushy brows,
Crinkled with tragedy.

Sand burned hands grip
Cool wood and metal,
Ready to unleash man made wrath,
Hands caress the trusted tool.

Leather sash torn
And beaten,
Adorns his person,
Protects his being.

Leather sash carries
Food for the Fury of the Birds,
Cruel in the bright Asian Sun.

Egg-white cloth wraps and
Cools the heated head of battle,
Jagged lips have mountains and valleys,
A lifetime of memories on their slopes.

Twisted, curled, maze-like beard
Stretching to his shoulders,
Younger dark versus older white
Battle for dominance,
Fighting for his life and death.