Fighting sticks

Seconds down, a new round begins,
Two nervous professionals, clad in armor,
A swift strike to the chest, gracefully sweeping the shins,
To me, a 3 minute bout, to them, an unending war.

The match ends, they bow and congratulate,
It’s admirable, they are confined but free,
Swift, graceful and dangerous, a practiced fate,
But one day, maybe that could be me.

So I train, the flow is right, I give the technique practice,
I look away, and bam, one stick ricochets off of the other one,
It strikes my thigh, the pain like an endless abyss,
But I fight through it, but the pain is never done.

Feeling the pain push away victory,
Once again, ready for practice once more,
New techniques, new struggles, a new injury,
Yet another ricochet, shaking my body to the core.

Finally ready to fight, still pushing through pain,
In the ring clad and ready for the bout,
How do others fight it, the hurt is insane,
Seconds down, sticks up, times up, as I clamber out.