Strength

I come from yet another day of fighting,

I try and try and try to live the good life,

But the days of inevitable depression come.

I have no choice but to enter the ring,

I put on my gloves, and slap in the mouth piece.

Perhaps this will help, and the bell rings,

Ensuring that we will not be disturbed.

I strike a blow to ribs, to get things moving,

Yet he blocks it with such ease

That he questions whether it was even a punch after all.

The day’s anger and stress and pressure fuel me.

And I go on taking my rage out on this poor man.

Yet he still stands strong, willing and able for more.

And he gets it, but the end is near, one must emerge victorious.

As the seconds count down to the end, He decides my fate

With but a single blow to end it, and I hit the canvas.

And as I lie there motionless, I wonder who is true victor,

I pick myself up and stroll over to my desk

And start on the day’s work, willing, happy, strong.