I met death
For an arm wrestle.
But he seemed quite strong.
He held a grin
Like he already knew the ending to my story.
He’s broad
And stout,
With eyes
That seem to see the future.
With our fused hands
The fight began.
But a strong battle
Quickly turned
To a war of attrition.
With Death’s smile in my grasp
I look toward the crowd.
And among the audience,
I see a man.
He seemed to be carved from light,
Just defined enough to look human.
His mouth hung awkward,
Swallowed with disappointment.
His eyes had a shimmer.
But not with joy.
With sorrow.
With fear.
With shame.
And guilt.
And pride.
With every paradox
A man could bare.
As he stared to my eyes.
I saw all of what I had left dragging behind.
Old wounds.
Failed relationships.
Lonely nights.
Broken promises.
Regrets that I buried
And memories that I couldn’t.
As if every weight once on my shoulders
Came back
For one last rep.
Every grief
That outlived
It’s cause.
And my arm
Soon began to tremble.
And I slipped
Into Death’s grasp,
Carrying nothing
But my past.
I met death
For an arm wrestle.
But the last thing I expected
Was to loose
To life.