This last defiant breath
I will not release

without a struggle. To breathe it
would be to admit

I’m past resistance
and have surrendered

to easy despair
with the world and its 

grasp upon me, that I’ve begun
to interpret the velvet of

its grip on my throat as
less heinous than that

of an iron hand crushing
me swiftly into choke though

the end result will be the same:
my white-lit death. My tunnel

opening.  Even if I remain
alive after breathing, that moment will signify

my willingness to walk into
my own captivity to their New World —

so I fight, holding my breath
against that. If I die fighting, may it be

that my body will hold that breath
for the next fight, the next fighter,

then for the next fight and fighter
and all the ones after that;

not only for my world,
but for those to come.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “Fighter

  • Eileen

    I have to admit that I had sort of lost my sense of purpose before the disastrous election. Now, I am writing letters, emails, faxes and calling elected officials and attending Democratic Party meetings and the NAACP. Working on researching ministries to the homeless and those living on the edge of homelessness and publicizing them. Since I have been stuck at home recuperating from back surgery, I had plenty of time and a computer, I will go down fighting!!

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