Thursday
03Dec2009
Poetry Battle...
Thursday, December 3, 2009 at 6:27PM For those of you that don't know what goes on behind the scenes at CrossFit Boston I'll give you a little glimpse. Alex and I compete to see who can find better poems. (yeah we're dorks, we know) And I think this is in the lead, unless Alex has a retort.
You're the Result of Yourself
Pablo Neruda
| Don't blame anyone, never complain of anyone or anything Because basically you have made of your life what you wanted. Accept the difficulties of edifying yourself And the worth of starting to correct your character. The triumph of the true man arises from the ashes of his mistakes. Never complain of your loneliness or your luck. Face it with courage and accept it. Somehow, they are the result of your acts and It shows that you'll always win. Don't feel frustrated of your own failures, neither unload them to someone else. Accept yourself now or you'll go on justifying yourself like a child. Remember that any time is good to start And that no time is so good to give up. Don't forget that the cause of your present is your past, As the cause of your future will be your present. Learn from the brave, from the strong, From who doesn't accept situations From who will live in spite of everything. Think less of your problems and more of your work. Learn to arise from your pain, And to be greater than the greatest of your obstacles. Look at the mirror of yourself and you'll be free and strong And you'll stop being a puppet of circumstances. For you yourself are your destiny. Wake up and stare at the sun in the mornings and breathe the sun of dawn. You're part of the strength of your life now, Rise up, fight, walk, be sure and you'll win in life. Don't ever think of 'fate' For fate is the excuse of failures. |
Reader Comments (2)
Thanks for this, Jen.
Very Cool.
I'll throw this into the ring:
The Quitter - Robert W. Service
When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it’s according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it’s easy to blow . . .
It’s the hell-served-for-breakfast that’s hard.
"You're sick of the game!" Well, now that’s a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit, it’s so easy to quit.
It’s the keeping-your chin-up that’s hard.
It’s easy to cry that you're beaten — and die;
It’s easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope’s out of sight —
Why that’s the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and battered and scarred,
Just have one more try — it’s dead easy to die,
It’s the keeping-on-living that’s hard.