A Permanent Stance

I won't argue with you, my friend.
I will lose; that's the expected end.
I will balk.
I will hesitate.
I will hold back.
For I am not trained to pounce.
Or hurt.
I am not in battle form.
My energies focused elsewhere.
Not on winning,
But on bonding,
On seeking truths,
And reaching out,
On finding common threads
And positions of peace.

And you,
In your permanent stance
Of fight and fear,
Are well versed in battles of wits and words
Your intellect, your arms.
Your condescension, your barbs.
Your mocking tone, your shield.

Don't you get tired?
Don't your fists want to ease up?
Doesn't your back break
And heart ache?
Doesn't your upturned chin and your clenched jaw
Just rob the energy and soul out of you
As you permanently stand
Ready to bite, to hurl, and to fight?

Maybe you think it's cool.
Maybe it's the hard shell you put up in defense.
Maybe you're just giving back life's bad throws.
Maybe somebody did it to you.
Maybe it's just sport
For fun
For the thrill of the win.
But your dour old soul
Makes winning look like no fun at all.

You win.
So what?

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