come contender

some ignorants 
and less-than-harmless marauders
evidently doubt whether i have 
the fire of hell in my belly and hand

i continue to step steady
through the corrosive cold
and my pace will not waiver 
as bellflowers in my throat 
begin to wither unspoken
as scalding tears freeze on my cheek mid-stream 
as my knees grind bone on bone 
my pace will not waiver 

so i welcome the contender 
the smirking thug
who respects not love, death, bliss or pain
to ask me about the fire 
so i may answer with my frozen-hot fist
and he will never look the same 
or see the same again