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The Ranger
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Print it, make poster's...etc. I do this not for profit, but for a small piece of immortality....
Ranger
Ranger
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Why do we deal with the pain...???
- Thread starter The Ranger
- Start date
B
Big Buck
Guest
Yeah Ranger, do u have a collection of all your poems?
Bikini Mod
New member
Yea, that's me:
ONE BIG MOTHERFUCKER!
tee-hee
ONE BIG MOTHERFUCKER!
tee-hee
Maximum Intensity
New member
Very nice -- I stand in applause.
The Ranger
New member
I had them all until recently Buck when I put a size 12 Red-Wing boot through my hard-drive...I was able to retrieve most through members...here's another fer ya...
THE CONVERSATION
The young Brother walked forward,
His face sad and drawn.
He held out a callused hand,
And felt these scars were wrong.
The Iron God stepped up,
And smacked his hands with a clap,
And through the chalky mist, he said.
"Young Brother, what is this crap?"
The young Brother drew away and sniffed,
Hid his eyes while wiping a tear.
"I've given you my best Iron God,
And bled Iron for a solid year!"
"It seems that I make no gains,
There was a time, I thought I could.
And the pain is getting harder,
It causes more harm now…than good!"
The Iron God stood there staring,
Then locked on the young one's eyes.
He searched his mind from "Back in the Day",
And re-called something clever and wise.
" Your ashamed of those hands,
But wear those calluses with pride.
For many an Iron Brother,
With callused hands lay down and died."
"It's not how many sets,
Nor the exercise…now is it?
It's when you feel the pain,
And it makes you want to quit."
The young Brother hung his head,
And flexed those callused hands.
"But Iron God", he said so softly,
"You just don't understand."
"Down there we are out numbered,
And the common one's are the worst.
They look and stare…they use bad form,
And they say the Iron Brothers are cursed."
"They never hit the squat rack,
And sometimes I have fallen prey.
Then they leave, and I'm in the zone,
But they're back, the very next day."
The Iron God squared his jaw,
Then tapped a thick, scarred finger.
And on the young Brother's face,
His eyes did sadly linger.
"This Iron war is not won,
By those who just say,"Screw it",
It is won by the Iron Brother's,
Who decide they can do it!"
"But what about the common one's,
Who are misled in their lives.
They've never felt the pain I know,
I can see it in their eyes?"
"You cannot help them young Brother,
Nor dictate their sad chosen path.
You cannot stop their ignorance,
Nor heal their weekend wrath's."
"Bleed Iron at the Iron Bar Throne,
And the pain will someday cease.
Then return to your one room house,
If only for an hour…know your peace!"
"But Iron God", the young Brother started,
His heart heavy with lead.
"I know the common one's down there,
They wish that I were dead!"
"I feel their stares burning,
They laugh and fling their mud.
Yet, who is there to thank me?
When I sweat my Iron Blood?"
The Iron God pursed his lips,
His answer lay unknown.
For he to had felt the pain,
A pain that hurts to the bone.
"There are no easy answers,
For the ache that you feel.
But appreciation, and their praise,
I'm afraid ain't a part of the deal."
"The respect will come with gratitude,
And admiration from the Iron Brother's too!
But, it will not come from the common one's,
Who cannot do what we can do!"
The young Brother felt the tears,
And looked down at his callused hands.
He knew he could not quit,
As he had already planned.
For now, he saw those callused hands,
Not just as something he does.
They are not just a symbol,
IT MADE HIM WHAT HE WAS!
AN IRON BROTHER
RANGER
THE CONVERSATION
The young Brother walked forward,
His face sad and drawn.
He held out a callused hand,
And felt these scars were wrong.
The Iron God stepped up,
And smacked his hands with a clap,
And through the chalky mist, he said.
"Young Brother, what is this crap?"
The young Brother drew away and sniffed,
Hid his eyes while wiping a tear.
"I've given you my best Iron God,
And bled Iron for a solid year!"
"It seems that I make no gains,
There was a time, I thought I could.
And the pain is getting harder,
It causes more harm now…than good!"
The Iron God stood there staring,
Then locked on the young one's eyes.
He searched his mind from "Back in the Day",
And re-called something clever and wise.
" Your ashamed of those hands,
But wear those calluses with pride.
For many an Iron Brother,
With callused hands lay down and died."
"It's not how many sets,
Nor the exercise…now is it?
It's when you feel the pain,
And it makes you want to quit."
The young Brother hung his head,
And flexed those callused hands.
"But Iron God", he said so softly,
"You just don't understand."
"Down there we are out numbered,
And the common one's are the worst.
They look and stare…they use bad form,
And they say the Iron Brothers are cursed."
"They never hit the squat rack,
And sometimes I have fallen prey.
Then they leave, and I'm in the zone,
But they're back, the very next day."
The Iron God squared his jaw,
Then tapped a thick, scarred finger.
And on the young Brother's face,
His eyes did sadly linger.
"This Iron war is not won,
By those who just say,"Screw it",
It is won by the Iron Brother's,
Who decide they can do it!"
"But what about the common one's,
Who are misled in their lives.
They've never felt the pain I know,
I can see it in their eyes?"
"You cannot help them young Brother,
Nor dictate their sad chosen path.
You cannot stop their ignorance,
Nor heal their weekend wrath's."
"Bleed Iron at the Iron Bar Throne,
And the pain will someday cease.
Then return to your one room house,
If only for an hour…know your peace!"
"But Iron God", the young Brother started,
His heart heavy with lead.
"I know the common one's down there,
They wish that I were dead!"
"I feel their stares burning,
They laugh and fling their mud.
Yet, who is there to thank me?
When I sweat my Iron Blood?"
The Iron God pursed his lips,
His answer lay unknown.
For he to had felt the pain,
A pain that hurts to the bone.
"There are no easy answers,
For the ache that you feel.
But appreciation, and their praise,
I'm afraid ain't a part of the deal."
"The respect will come with gratitude,
And admiration from the Iron Brother's too!
But, it will not come from the common one's,
Who cannot do what we can do!"
The young Brother felt the tears,
And looked down at his callused hands.
He knew he could not quit,
As he had already planned.
For now, he saw those callused hands,
Not just as something he does.
They are not just a symbol,
IT MADE HIM WHAT HE WAS!
AN IRON BROTHER
RANGER
AGENT SHAGWELL
New member
The Ranger said:Just picture nice callused, soapy hands slowly massaging your shoulders....easing down as your eyes are closed..... small beads of sweat forming on the brow as the steam rises from the bath...the subtle scent of bath oil mixed with pleasure...the rough hands gently easing sore muscles....faint kisses that quitely brush the neck....candle-light....soft music....Ahhhhhhhh.....
Ah Yes.....It would've been grand my dear Shag's....
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ranger
Ranger...why you gotta play like that with me?...damn boy........Took a bath solo...you know what a pain in the tooshie it is to try and massage you quads and hams for longer than a minute?! sucks.......
Methyl...I got your e mail...I know who you are....your name showed up on it....so stop playin
Last edited:
METHYL MIKE
New member
Damn ranger-that last one was one of your best. it really brings to life the pain i have felt for many years now, and will no doubt carry me through many more. please post it on af, i vote it for the hall of fame. Youre the best dude.
The Ranger
New member
Try this one out Mike.....
Sacrafice
It was the night before the contest,
the Iron Brother lived all alone.
In a one bedroom house,
made of plaster and stone.
The Iron God came to this home,
for dedication that the Iron Brother did give.
And to look upon the squaller,
where the Iron Brother did live.
He had scars and stretch marks,
sprains and strains of all kinds.
And one pensive thought,
came through the Iron God's mind.
The Iron Brother's house was different,
inside was dark and dreary.
He found the home of an Iron Worshipper,
at once, he could see this clearly.
The Iron Brother lay sleeping,
breathing softly...so silent and alone.
Curled up on the floor,
in this one bedroom home.
The Iron God realized,
of all the Brothers he saw this night.
They were all commited to the Iron Throne,
and the Iron Bar, they were willing to fight.
Iron Brothers around the world,
knew the price they had to pay.
They bleed their Iron through overtime,
and rarely enjoy the light of day.
They bypassed good times, and parties,
each day, every month of the year.
The Iron God felt a kinship,
to the Iron Brother laying here.
The Iron God couldn't help but wonder,
how many Brothers lay alone.
And bodies ached throughout the night,
in these small, one bedroom homes.
Just the very thought,
brought a tear to the Iron Gods eye.
He then dropped to his knees,
and the Iron God began to cry.
The Iron Brother awakened,
and croaked out in a rough voice.
Iron God don't cry,
this life is my choice.
I lift to feel the freedom,
and I do not ask for more.
My life is yours Iron God,
and my body, to it's very core.
The Iron Brother breathed deeply,
and then lay quite, in his eternal sleep.
The Iron God couldn't control it,
and he softly, continued to weep.
The Iron God sat watch,
so silent...and so still.
Until he began to shiver,
at the coldness, of this nights chill.
He didn't want to leave,
on that dark and dreary night.
For the Guardian of the Iron Throne,
lay in death, before the Iron God's sight.
Ranger
Sacrafice
It was the night before the contest,
the Iron Brother lived all alone.
In a one bedroom house,
made of plaster and stone.
The Iron God came to this home,
for dedication that the Iron Brother did give.
And to look upon the squaller,
where the Iron Brother did live.
He had scars and stretch marks,
sprains and strains of all kinds.
And one pensive thought,
came through the Iron God's mind.
The Iron Brother's house was different,
inside was dark and dreary.
He found the home of an Iron Worshipper,
at once, he could see this clearly.
The Iron Brother lay sleeping,
breathing softly...so silent and alone.
Curled up on the floor,
in this one bedroom home.
The Iron God realized,
of all the Brothers he saw this night.
They were all commited to the Iron Throne,
and the Iron Bar, they were willing to fight.
Iron Brothers around the world,
knew the price they had to pay.
They bleed their Iron through overtime,
and rarely enjoy the light of day.
They bypassed good times, and parties,
each day, every month of the year.
The Iron God felt a kinship,
to the Iron Brother laying here.
The Iron God couldn't help but wonder,
how many Brothers lay alone.
And bodies ached throughout the night,
in these small, one bedroom homes.
Just the very thought,
brought a tear to the Iron Gods eye.
He then dropped to his knees,
and the Iron God began to cry.
The Iron Brother awakened,
and croaked out in a rough voice.
Iron God don't cry,
this life is my choice.
I lift to feel the freedom,
and I do not ask for more.
My life is yours Iron God,
and my body, to it's very core.
The Iron Brother breathed deeply,
and then lay quite, in his eternal sleep.
The Iron God couldn't control it,
and he softly, continued to weep.
The Iron God sat watch,
so silent...and so still.
Until he began to shiver,
at the coldness, of this nights chill.
He didn't want to leave,
on that dark and dreary night.
For the Guardian of the Iron Throne,
lay in death, before the Iron God's sight.
Ranger
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