First Victory
An Allegorical Poem by Carlos M.
First Victory
by Carlos M.
Another blow—
body shakes—
grit remains.
Man and beast—
two kings—
two warriors.
They attack—
they protect.
No room for mercy.
No turning back.
Man and beast—
two kings—
two fathers.
Hours have passed—
rage consumes both fighters.
Teeth sink in—
not the beast’s.
Flesh tears—
not the man’s.
The monster falls—
just one more blow...
death in the air.
No room for mercy.
No turning back.
Attack...
protect...
kill!
Stop.
The man gazes
into the beast’s dark eyes—
The man’s reflection...
engulfed by the abyss.
Man and beast—
two kings—
two kindred spirits.
The reaper appears:
“Will I have to wait?”
The man responds:
“I won. No reason to kill it.”
The reaper smiles:
“Were the roles reversed—
I’d be taking you.”
The man laughs:
“Were the roles reversed—
I would have died with honor.
But they’re not reversed,
so with honor I will live.”
The reaper prepares to leave:
“The creature knows no honor.”
The man stares at the reaper :
“It fought bravely.
The beast can remain a beast
and I will remain a man,
for the most important victory
over your enemy
is to differentiate yourself
from them.”
The reaper vanishes:
“You’re all the same to me.”
The man bows to the beast—
they both breathe
another day.
Man and beast—
two kings—
two survivors.
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Another blow, indeed.
Your verses arrive like the reaper himself, uninvited, impeccably dressed, and entirely unimpressed by our little performances of virtue. The man spares the beast and calls it honour, the reaper calls it Tuesday. Both are probably right, which is the most irritating part of any moral victory.
What lingers, though, is not the mercy but the naming of it. The man does not simply lower his blade; he must announce to the dark that he has chosen to remain a man. The beast, for its part, requires no such press release. It simply is—teeth, breath, and the ancient right to survive. In that asymmetry lies the poem’s slyest cut: the creature who fought without philosophy is granted the dignity of remaining exactly what it is, while the victor must carry the heavier burden of having decided.
And still they both breathe. That is the mercy the reaper cannot understand and the man cannot fully claim. Two kings, two survivors, two stories that will never quite agree on who won. The reaper, ever the professional, has already moved on to the next appointment. Because in the end, the only thing he finds truly indistinguishable is our shared refusal to stay dead when the script says we should.
A fierce, clear eyed piece. It refuses both sentimentality and cynicism, which is rarer than either!
Thank you for your service to verse Carlos!! ✨🙏🏻✨
Love the story this tells. Nicely done.