Unsurpassed

How I miss the savage claw  
painted precision, livid liver  
pastel hues.
The weather man's smiling prediction,
to hold violence. her name the coming storm.  
Beaten and punished into submission,
the athlete crashing to the ground
deflated, with a defiant resignation,  
to try again.
Bruises, like passing thunder clouds
hope for tomorrows secession.  
Floods, not swept away the pillars of the bridge
the autumn's turning leaves, of acceptance.
Self pity, last few drops of whisky,
aged and trapped within the vat,
to form its character,
thrashed the ears of grain.
The mill wheels crush,  
who would know, when it touch the lips
to grasp the unsurpassed