Lollapalooza

It was a lollapalooza from last week
that landed like a left hook
and left me slack jawed and listless
kneeling there like a lump.
That haymaker haunts me
in the here and now,
uses my yesterday lie
like a bonecrusher to the ribs.

We are four-dimensioned men
boxing over time.
Old Gang rumbles with New Gang,
running riot through soul’s inner city –
and one of them to the death.
Old Gang is pitiful
but he still packs a powerful punch
rising up in my inner vision
like muhammed ali out for blood.
I don’t think I’ll stand
much longer.

Sixty two rounds we’ve gone now.
I long for the bell
that signals some respite.
Every jab I make is weaker
than the jab before.
If I’m to win this fight
it won’t be me that wins it.
It will be he that loses.
I can last longer, that’s all.
I can last long enough.

He towers,
takes off his glove
looking for that final KO
this time.

But stand I will.
One more time.
His desperation steels me.
I set my jaw,
glare back into his glare.
Not one of my bones is broken.

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Tags: boxing, Christian, fight, old self vs new self, poem, poetry, religion, spiritual warfare

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