Poetry

A Fight with Death

By 25th February 2008December 9th, 2019No Comments

As I stood there looking death in the face
Wondering will he be charitable considerate or kind?
Or does he deal the blow
Will it be quick or will it be slow?

I feel my body come alive
From the soles of my feet
To the tips of my hair
My senses tingle
I feel the cold finger of death
Trying to take away my breath

But I won’t give in
He cannot win
This fight is mine
So I cannot whine
It’s time to step up to the mark
And get the fuck out of the dark

You may ask what was it like
To stare into those eyes
So deep and so dark
No soul to be seen
It makes you want to scream
To wriggle an gasp
Not wanting to give him you’re last

I survived to fight another day
He could not take my soul away
I refused to give into his demands
To lay down my arms
And move onto another land

That day I grew into a man
The boy was laid to rest
My whole being had been put to the test
I know that one day that fight will begin again
Who is to win and who is to lose
I know who I would choose

John Sinclair

Author John Sinclair

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