Always A Contender Poem by Mark Heathcote

Always a contender you fight till you die
Your fists will rise with never a tear in your soul
You'll hit first and pity no one left behind you.

You'll slip slide and weave
Because you're stronger alone
And stand centre of the ring
Never clutching onto anyone
always ready to stand alone and let go.

Let fists fly and pierce flesh and bone
Always a contender you fight till you die
But in the dark of the night
You harbour a lighthouse far away
A ghost that walks through walls
And gazes into your eyes without chains
He longs to drown in your heart, its dry flintlock chamber.
And lose his happily defeated soul.