One Blow

Rage rises as the morn's fiery sun
beyond dawn's tranquil ocean.
Anger thrusts against innards,
shrouds every touch of blue sky.
Rigidity of facial features
resembles a dead man's rigor mortis.
Eyes are but slits in this wrathful face,
like the wispy tongue of a snake
poised, waiting to strike.
Head cocked to one side,
begs to be reckoned with.
Fists are but knuckles,
dark mountains looming.
One blow.
One blow.
With the straw house,
it takes only one blow.