Or forget
Or exclude
Those who want to be there the most? I cannot run from you, from me, from we
And I’m tired
Tired of chasing
An invisible shadow
Lost in the creation of its mind
Running from itself
From me, from we
From the nothing in her to the desire in me
The sadness shows, it grows. It’s easier to turn and fight
And absorb the blows and stitch the scars
Than it is to run from her
Or to her, chasing the shadow
Or wish for something that is not there
As the blood runs down my weary face
I wish I was them, those who seem to matter
As the pain helps me lose the thought of her. The Fighter needs no one
For the corner of his box is empty
Until the bell rings
And he meets the other lonely Soul
In a place where only one can survive
He stands and withstands
Without excuse
Fanfare is only for the champion
The beloved one. Please, my old friend Rage, come and talk to me
Raise me up and turn me to stone
A rock, hard to the touch but a treasure to the sculptor
The one who sees a treasure in the mess that I am
And loves the art more than the air she breathes. There she might caress me And turn this stone to wonder The man to god, this god to Love There is nothing in between But a blur as her hammer goes to work. Or there she might sing to me Lull me to sleep with some sweet melody Sooth the savage beast as Lovers often do. Silence. Instead. There is nothing in the darkness for me. For them, plenty. For me, the emptiness of space As I inhale he ether and pretend it has a flavor As I hear my old friend Rage calling out to me “I am here, and you will never be alone.” I smile in the rendition But sigh in the subtle resolve Gone to sleep in chaotic melancholy The Fighter, the Lover, the man Left to stray as some reluctant memory He cries, alone, waiting for the bell to ring at last Knowing that as the blows rain down from places he can’t see That darkness, sweet darkness, will be the loser’s prize. For he is nothing And he has lost without even parting from his stool It was not his fight to win He was simply the body paying the price for the heart’s own folly So now he stands Waiting for the lights to fade. ω