Friday, December 11, 2009

My legs tell a story

My legs tell a story.
Lumps and bruises up and down my shins,
Skin worn raw and red from my toes to my knees,
And I am happy.

Strike hard with all the guts left in you,
Strike fast as the timer counts down,
Don't let them catch you
Slacking off.

We are here for one reason
And one reason only.
We are here to learn to fight-
All else is secondary.

Fight for our lives and our livings,
Fight because we have to,
Fight because we goddamn want to.

I have been searching for many years,
And am not even close to finding a real answer
To the real question I have just begun to understand:
What am I fighting for?

I don't know.

But I will drag myself to the gym anyway,
Tired and sore and hungry and cold,
But I'll keep going and going 'til I'm dead or I'm old
There's just something inside me saying I've just got to go
Get stronger and faster and master the flow,
To be feared and loved and known 'round the globe,
I can't ever stop.

Why should I?

My legs are tired from working,
They protest as I walk out the door,
I'm pushing until they can go no more;
Only then, will I be happy.

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