Last Round
Just one of those poems I wrote when alone allowing time to reflect on my life ... I like to went through my words expression is key...
All that I am lies in the hands of fate,
I try to block the punches my hands arrive to late.
I’m being beaten for lack of wanting to fight,
Waiting for the blow, that allows a peaceful night.
I’ve been down on the canvas forever and a day,
At least inside it has always felt that way.
I have no victories that make me stand out from the crowd,
The robe I wear hides me, looms over like a shroud.
I have nothing left, the well is dry, no hope for a rebound,
Strangely I find comfort in knowing, it’s the last round.
I try to block the punches my hands arrive to late.
I’m being beaten for lack of wanting to fight,
Waiting for the blow, that allows a peaceful night.
I’ve been down on the canvas forever and a day,
At least inside it has always felt that way.
I have no victories that make me stand out from the crowd,
The robe I wear hides me, looms over like a shroud.
I have nothing left, the well is dry, no hope for a rebound,
Strangely I find comfort in knowing, it’s the last round.
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