The Heavy Weight Bag

You have met my wrapped fists before

Met the cry of anger through closed hands

Though the cry comes from within

You feel it from the controlled repetition,

Pushing for more.

You have met my feet and moved away

Though you always came forth once more.

The only question within,

Will accuracy sustain the repetition

Or lack thereof cause my own delay?

My shins you have met when I am confident

To try more precarious practice.

Though only thrown when

the fists and feet

Do not complete my need to vent.

I meet with you to practice

When I would prefer to

dance a softer melody.

But I do so for when

Life puts me on a concrete stage,

You are there, as

You allow life expressed though an unsubtle art,

Though not done with paint or pen.