The women, striking in their sevillana dresses,
\ngaze down at him with their amorous hearts,
\nand from behind vibrant hand fans,
\nthey caress the cape of his courage
\nwith the suspense in their admiring eyes.<\/p>\n
And the men, dark and swarthy, their handsome faces
\nas if struck from the granite of Sierra Morena,
\nwear short jackets and open, white shirts, from which
\ntufts of dark curly hair rise and fall on virile chests.<\/p>\n
Sometimes the women allow the heat of furtive love
\nreach the matador from afar, as he coolly circles
\nthe inside of the bullring and solemnly salutes them
\nwith his three cornered hat and like a gladiator,
\nhe recites these ancient Roman words,
\n\u201cfor he who is about to die, we salute you.\u201d<\/p>\n
With the match of his black, olive stone gaze,
\nhe sets aflame the whole colorful arena,
\nbefore turning to face the black thunderbolt
\nof wrath that catapults from captivity into the ring.<\/p>\n
The bull radiates the trapped sun energy
\nof its furious blood to wash in waves over the crowd,
\nand breaks the crystal space around the waving crimson cape
\ninto hundreds of shards of glass that rain down on its back.
\nAs it passes through the man\u2019s exposed and delicate body,
\na horn leaves a red furrow of broken clothe and skin.<\/p>\n
Dynasties of bullfighters unravel from the DNA
\nof his blood stream and surge to the forefront,
\ncoming to his aid as he turns and braces himself
\nfor the animal\u2019s next fatal charge.<\/p>\n
Like a swaying cobra, the wounded bullfighters\u2019
\nlithe gold-burnished body swings in slow, hypnotic circles
\nand the menacing black beast now charges,
\nnot for the cape, but for the man\u2019s glistening, bloody chest.<\/p>\n
Yet the lightning quick silver of his sword
\nstrikes deep into the heart of his foe,
\nwhich collapses, like a juggernaut, onto the sand.<\/p>\n
And only later, amidst the stricken silence of the ring,
\ndoes the creature once again raise itself off the yellow ground
\nand with noble gait and a head crowned with thorns,
\nit disappears through the Gate of Death,
\nwhile its soul flows through the other Gate of Life,
\nand back into the essence of the great spirit,
\nlike a dream that once again enters the ocean.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u00a0By Anthony Walstorm<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Torero of Triana The women, striking in their sevillana dresses, gaze down at him with their amorous hearts, and from behind vibrant hand fans, they caress the cape of his courage with the suspense in their admiring eyes. And the men, dark and swarthy, their handsome faces as if struck from the granite of Sierra […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":137,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n