Below the Belt

The noise grows steadily stronger, metal on metal
pushing past my resistance as my anger puts up
a good fight.

I will not cry, are you kidding me, who do you
think I am, a doormat to your sharp knife's command?
No, this sadness will not win this round.

The sky watery and grey like my stinging eyes,
I push back, trying not to feel the deep ache
that has no blood, but hurts just as bad.

Go away, you clouds of darkness, wipe that sick
grin off my tired heart and soul, get back, get back
You are not welcome here today.

Below the belt is where your aim goes every time,
and like a coward, you hit me when I'm down,
but not this time, not this time.

My sword of resolve is fighting back, pushing back,
so, get on out of here, leave me be, I am stronger
than any sadness you could ever bring.

Steel on steel, you will not win, I will not wince,
I will not bow, I will not break, I will not cry.
But I will thrive, I will survive, no matter what
fire you throw on my path.

Trudi Ralston.
November 4th, 2014.
Fall seems to bring with it melancholy and rains
heavy with sad musings. Not that they ever get to have the last word.