Tough Fists

Tough fists shadow boxing in an alley.
Valley of Death, valley of loss, of night,
closing in, punching the dark strips
of the night, unburned by the stars.
 She is sweating, tired and taut, wire
pulled too tight over too far a distance.
The shadows are coming down, eternal.
She might break and snap open the sky.
 Silent, but there are sirens, laughing drunks,
and distant music, and people who are free.
Silent, but the darkness in her head, in her life,
the shadows getting hooks in her flushed skin.
 What can she fight, that cannot be touched,
cannot be lost like sanity and love and passion,
that lingers forever in these nights and heartbreak?
Fighting others in the ring will be over, be won.
 But shadows never leave, only cast back by momentary light.
And light fades, and becomes distant, and leaves us defenseless.
She boxes the shadows coming down on her, on her world.
Never ending, never defeated, just pushed back, for a moment.
 A laugh. A touch. A kiss. But always waiting, always roaring back in the night.
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s