A poem for Mr. Wayne

This might end up over on Gotham City News once I figure out what exactly I want to do with it. The blog, I mean. Wrote it today at lunch, sitting in Battery Park, having completely forgotten I was supposed to be at the the dentist!

Gotham City Suite
Untitled, #1

somewhere in the city
when night blankets the streets
and evil comes out to play

a man with too much money
and too little hope
battles demons
real and imagined

he is neither cure
nor salve

merely a tourniquet
sacrificing limb for body
peace of mind for soul

his enemies are funhouse
reflections of himself

he often wonders
what that means

whether the weight of a fist
mangling flesh and bone
can truly silence the howls

if the stench of compromise
can overpower that of decay

if fighting fire with fire
is simply redundant
a cliche whose time has passed.

perched on a ledge
overlooking abbreviated youth
he studies the bloodstained alley
where he was born again
looking for a sign
to give up the fight

feels the stretch marks
across his shoulder blades
the weight of the world threatening
to split the hardened skin

he knows this city
like a death row convict
knows his cell

has paced its length and width
and lack of depth

has spilled his own blood
and that of others

has seen death's grin
a million times over

and knows no other way
to live.

he could turn his back
leave it to others
hope they are up to the task

instead
he straightens to his full height
strains against the confines of his skin
and leaps into the night sky.

above
a shaft of light pierces the darkness
and rests against the clouds

somewhere in the city
he is needed.