The Ring

The Ring

In my back room behind the scenes with gloves being tied,

I sit listening to the voices in my head but I often sigh.

It’s another ring, a battle ground a familiar one I know,

Beyond curtains of thought fists flying blow by blow.

I watch the image swaying back and forth,

One that knows the future, knows the course.

But the voices haven’t helped this battle to secure,

Only blood and sweat churning that’s to be sure.

A mouth piece was offered to keep teeth in place,

Like times before, there would be another space.

“You must fight a good fight,” the spirit encouraged,

Knowing full well that defeat does discourage.

Gloves tied, shorts adjusted, mind anticipating,

As crowds gather to see, to shout, it’s debilitating.

For I know deep down inside if I didn’t win again,

That those I’m fighting for their support rescind.

“Fight, fight, fight,” crowd chiding from the ropes,

With little understanding about what it takes to cope.

They judge the fighter on the knock outs alone,

Never understanding what’s needed to atone.

“Are you ready?” my voices question and wait to see,

If today’s battle I might win or will it kill me.

Renewing my promises to those that I love,

I bow my head to whisper a pray for grace from above.