Victory Poem by Lynn Stillman

At fifteen years of age,
you are born.
Born perhaps prematurely,
into manhood.
Your life till now
has not been one
of which nursery rhymes are made.
More like a heavy metal lullaby.
You have lived the life
of a fighter.
An exhausting, seemingly endless
uphill run.
Ever vigilant in your stance,
your guard up and unyielding.
Your eyes never leaving
an unpredictable,
. and unscrupulous opponent.
The fight is over now,
the glory is yours,
so revel in it.
It is time to dropp your guard now
my precious,
brave hearted one.
Let me take your hand,
and allow me to proudly
raise it high above your head
in honor of your victory.
The title is yours to wear with pride
and forever yours to keep.