We’ve been in the ring,
fighting the good fight,
but it’s bare-knuckle boxing
with the shadow of Death,
who doesn’t pull its punches,
and ignores the ring judge.
Jabs to the ribs have made it feel as if there
simply wasn’t enough oxygen
in the world to make up for the
breathtaking rounds of heartaches
the last few weeks.
Tribulations have plagued
the minds and hearts of me
and my beloved, resulting in
an explosion of cussing, cursing,
crying, pleading, prayers and patience
testing; ducking, juking and jiving.
The details are unnecessary,
they are swampy and soupy,
in buckets of tears, crumpled towels
in the corner of the ring, and left in places
we don’t want to go, still reflecting
in mirrors we don’t want to see.
It isn’t special, our recent troubles,
others have been gut-punched as well,
it’s as if a wave of malicious intent pummeled
the faces of all mankind like a turbulent
storm, hell-bent on ruckus and chaos.
All Eye-poking and shin kicking.
It is all nothing new, but freshly shocking;
experiences in sorrow and sadness,
waiting for the body blows to stop,
the bell to ring,
and the bout to end.
Until the next round…
