The Ones in the Arena

Why do I write?

They ask me this as I sit down for hours in front of a computer screen

No colors, just the white and black of the google doc

They ask me, why do you do it?

I do not hear them, their words mixing with the rabble rabble

Of the arena that surrounds me

For there I stand, daring to dream, not a small dream

For I am in the arena, I stepped in on my own occurred

In this place, I remember words

A hundred years removed from my place in time

Words from a man, like me maybe, asthmatic but bold

Brave enough to stand in the arena and smile,

A true manly smile of empathy and kindness

While all others sneered and jeered around him.

It is not the critic who counts, that is what he said

What do those know, who never dared to dream?

Who never stepped into the arena

Who never stepped up to a fight they could not win.

No, their words are just wind, and my legs are strong

There is weight to me, that they cannot move

Rabble rabble, rabble rabble, humm…

I listen, but they are too far away to hear

They are afraid of the arena

It is the fight that terrifies them

It is the hours alone inside their own heads

It is all that time spent alone

For in this arena, I am alone

We all have our own arena’s

Will you step into yours, with nothing guaranteed?

And all your doubters watching, calling you fool

You will be bloodied, you will be beaten

But that doesn’t matter, it’s doesn’t even matter if you win the fight

All that matters, is that you stepped into the arena

You heard everyone doubting and you did not care

You dared to live greatly

You didn’t meekly accept that you couldn’t be more

You stepped into that arena

You felt something that those spectating never will

Remember, it is not the critic who counts,

It is that person, who dared to dream greatly

The ones actually in the arena

It is only those daring souls that count

By, Tyler W. Golec