The Sanctification of Competition

BY david woods, yale ’25

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. 

SOURCES

[1] Sophia’s Cancer Chronicles Blog, https://hsophia050.wixsite.com/mysite/blog

[2] John 3:16

[3] Isaiah 49: 8, 10-11