The Sanctification of Competition
March 15, 2024 | By David Woods TD ‘25
image description: a railing stands slick with condensation in the night
A stone’s throw away,
The window glistens.
A beaten and broken shell
Lies shattered on the ground.
My eyes can’t see,
And my feet don’t want to move.
Shattered like the window,
I lift my arms through the glass.
The car chirps endlessly.
Geez, I’ve always hated that sound.
Timid and alone, the child
Lays motionless on the seat.
How much pain can
One small body endure?
The sirens shrill, and I have no choice but to run.
Righteousness is a gift
A victory to be had,
But how long does it linger
Before reality arrives
And loneliness sets in?
Sharp pangs cut through the night,
Reflecting blips of red and white light.
Tensions amount to nothing.
My hair blows in the breeze.
I try not to look down,
Not to see the city street
Slick with rain
Only six stories below.
I reach out for a grasp, for anything—
A bundle of clothing in my fingers—
To clutch the time left.
Life always seems fragile,
But never more in reality
When you are what stands
Between another and destiny.
Suddenly, I’m alone.
Never have I felt more alone.
I climb down the stairs.
They pat me on the back,
But I am still alone.
Today is the funeral.
Black adorns everything, and
There is no escape.
My collar is stiff, the starch
Seeps into the tie
Or rather, it feels like it.
As I choke at the microphone,
People want to hear something;
They want anything,
Anything to remind them of what he wasn’t.
Memories fade in death.
The bad ones go away with time,
And we’re left with visions,
Things that should be buried—
Buried with the abuse
The tears and the bruises,
But they aren’t.
Shining through like a beacon
Are the things that we owe the dead,
The things that I can’t give
It’s winter now, though
The weather is a mix of
Gray and blue—
Of doubt and misfortune mired
In the shroud of the hope.
It’s tiresome to try,
To fall over and over,
Feeling the weight of decision
And losing every time.
Light breaks over the horizon.
It cannot always be dark.
Many are the troubles
That the righteous face
When there is nowhere to turn.
People, a sad and empty promise,
Fleeting in conviction,
With admiration in themselves
Of their own resolutions.
But, time stands still
As the Lord delivers.