I fought so hard to live.
It was a fight to the death—
Every step forth burned
My soles, my bones, my core;
Every step tore me apart,
And rebound me so that I
Could feed my beasts of doom.

I fought so hard to live.
It was a good fight,
It was a dirty fight,
It was no small fight—
No scars yet so deep;
No bones yet as sore,
Broken, yet hopelessly
Pushing on, fighting
To live; a fight to the death.

I fought no more—no life
Or death made sense. I saw
Blood of my past, and witnessed
Its writhes, its pains, its horrors;
I saw darkness of my future
And a glimmer at a distance,
O’, I witnessed the untold—
I cannot tell. I could not fight
No more. No need exceeded
The liberty in letting go
And letting be. I let it be.

Photo by Colin Moldenhauer on Unsplash

##

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: poem poems

Benie Langat

Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.