running
not for or from
not to or fro
just one foot in front of the other.
not really counting
not steps
not miles
not minutes, seconds, or calories
just a rhythm
pounding
pacing
pulse quickening
breathing deeply
settling steadily to the sound of my footfalls
the mindless carrying on of my legs
a welcome counter to the emptying of my head
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
The time for words had passed
I don't even remember
what was said.
Who said it?
Hold up, hold back,
too late now.
My weight holding him down.
His throat griped tightly between my hands.
My mind grasping blindly from the hate.
What now, what next,
I've crossed a line.
The hate that made a handle
of my opponent's larynx
is muddied.
Muddled with guilt but strengthened by fear.
Let go, let loose,
the fight has left him.
Yet still I hold,
fearing more the next opponent I face.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC