Not All Victories are Brilliant

That beast comes at me with a new fury.
It’s rabid, vapid, and it’s preparing to charge.
It’s enraged at the sight of me and on a wild offensive now.

Its eyes are wide and unfocused;
Its fangs are bared.

I don’t understand its rage.

What I wonder now is:
Will I freeze in paralyzed terror,

Or!

Will I faint in the face of this violent onslaught?

Turn heel and flee from this wicked adversary,
tripping and stumbling,
wide-eyed, blind with panic?

Turn, vicious, weapon in hand,
fighting for tomorrow as though
I may have no tomorrows left?

It sees me hesitate in my thoughts,
and lowers its head to begin its charge.
It’s not the first time; it will not be the last.

What should I do?

It charges directly, in a straight line.

There’s no time.
I can’t get out of its way now.

Tonight, I consider that I could die with a brutality
that allows no-one to question
if I truly lived.

I can’t just surrender.
I made a promise.

If they find my corpse, do I want them to see that

I just gave up,

or that I understood this would end
for either it or me, and I chose me, and

I fought with everything I had?

We draw as many breaths as possible,
us stubborn humans.

We are so viciously alive.
We hold on as long as we can.

As long as we have the will to try,
to paint ourselves for war,
to claw, bite, and flail;

we can always choose.

Not all victories are brilliant.

That’s ok.
Fight with savagery.

Fight with all you have.

Go for the throat.

September 14, 2024

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