Jacob and the Wrestling Match

The Holy Hulk of Heavenly Heights heaved his huge frame to the ring.
He bellowed in voice that billowed the clouds, “Jacob, I am the King!”
King of All Wrestlers, that is my name; your chosen to challenge the champ.
The match is at midnight, we fight till the dawn, the light of the moon is our lamp.”

On the silky sands of that silent a waste, a darken desert of dream,
Jacob the Jew boy jumped to his feet to meekly measure his means.
Child of a promise, put to him plainly plenty of years ago.
A match with his maker, the mauler of men, who would believe this is so?

Kindly a King, majestic in might, makes sense to more than one man.
Decidedly distant in thrones of the sky, not scuffling in soot and the sand.
Said Jacob the Jew in just a small voice, “The gauntlet you’ve thrown down, I pick up.
You call the game but I name the crown, we fight for the prize of your cup.

The cup of your blessing, we battle for that. All my brains and my brawn I will bring,
To this dangerous a dance in this darkened a dune that is not a rough house and ring.
Hulk of the Heavens, I’ve nothing to loose, at the dawn of the day I will die.
My brother the brute with his four hundred men will butcher and bloody the sky.

Then your favor to me will fly in the wind like a flock of feathery birds.
And favor turns folly for fools and their friends is a song I will sing without words.
I fight for my life but you fight for fame, O Hulk of Heavenly Heights.
Do you reason a risk with this little a man in this ring of never more nights?”

Said Hulk of the Heavens, “Enough of this talk, the bout of the brutes shall begin.
Worrisome words will wither and die, may the worthiest warrior win.”
Around the mat of that sacred event emerged a sea of green eyes.
The angelical throng cast a heavenly hue on the men on their earthen arise.

But off in a distance in darkness and death, devilish lights did appear.
A cowardly crowd crouched in crags of the cliffs to cajole and steal a mean leer.
“Jacob my son, the first move is yours. Make it now!” said the Hulk to his friend.
And Jacob did jump like a jackal in June. He was swift like the desert’s dry wind.

The combatants engaged, their bodies entwined in a movement of madness and might.
A  cringe and a growl, a grunt and a groan were the sounds of the awesome a night.
Biceps to triceps, muscle to bone the maulers did mangle their foe.
But foe became friend in the frenzied a fight as fearsome fears flew like May snow.

Wrestling as sport, a most intimate game, where rivals are rallied to face,
Their contender in arms without mask of disguise, whose sole weapon a manly embrace.
Fathers and sons labor in love as they hustle and tussle and sweat.
A wrenching of wills that are wondrously changed from resentment to reverent respect.

At the breaking of dawn, when the rays of the sun, were hurled to the sand and the surf.
Jacob the sly, ducked his right arm to pin the great Hulk to the turf.
The Hulk of the Heavens touched the man’s thigh to jiggle the joint and the bone.
You’ll remember this night all the days of your life as you limp to your heavenly home.

Jacob cried, “Stop, a bet is a bet, your blessing of favor is mine.
I won fair and square, it’s time to pay up, may the grace of your face to me shine.”
“My blessing on you, deceptive and deft, who struggled with men all his life,
Is to give a new name, to sing a new tune, you’ve been changed by the discord and strife.

‘You have wrestled with God.” that is your name, for you and your kinsmen to come.”
And with that he was gone in the light of the day, as he flew to the dawn of the sun.
With a wobble and hobble, Jacob did go to his brother, belligerent beast.
Though beast was reborn as a marvelous chap to embrace and share a great feast.

Who is this one, thought Jacob the Jew, this Hulk of Heavenly Heights.
Who wrestles with men in the soot and the sand in the deepest and darkest of night?
And why did he lose, to one such as I, who is feeble, flimsy and frail?
Does he play be a rule that is foreign to me in a world that is cloaked in a veil?

The mauler of men sends babes to be born in bins of broken down barns.
He sweats drops of blood, in gardens of green, from his head and his nail punctured arms.
To lose is to win, the first shall be last, in his ring of rough house and rife.
The Wrestling King is looking for souls to grapple with all of their life.

So in twilight of nights, in silence and gloom, where the mystical melts into dream,
If a billowy voice bellows you name, it’s your call to the wrestling team.
Lace up your boots, fall on your knees, for the match of your life to begin.
Holy Hulk of Heavenly Heights, you’re summoned to tangle with him.