eternia

He boxes the air.

He is a balance of still and storm.
The peace can be deceiving.

At night, he is lured by syrupy words,
haunted by stick figures,
propelled by promise.
When the sun stretches,
he puts his daydreams to rest
and enters the reality of dreams.

He boxes the air.

Swift, blinding
         thunder, lightning
                       heartbeat     beat     beat
                                                            Pound!

         Twitch & Sweat 
          Life & Death
Exorcised between each labored breath.

(I wonder if he knows it is not me he battles with at all)

When night falls
                        lids close
                                      reality exposed
                                                             He faces his soul.

And wars with God there.