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(Fencing. This is definitely about fencing.)
I stare down its length
At the one I have to beat
Letting the finest edge
Be the guide within my hands
Leading me to victory
Before my opponent takes me down
He shifts his weight
Coming up to pounce
A subtle flex to his narrow blade
Makes it hard to follow true
Still I move
And give him ground
As I bat his blow away
I try my luck
Pushing hard ahead
Nearly slamming face to face
We are in too close
Forced to push away
And stare each other down
All we hear is the ticking timer
I look down my blade
While he rushes forward
I wait until he nears
I beat up his blade
Sending it above my head
Piercing open air
I take my chance
Lunging at his chest
To score the final beat
Legends of Windemere 
I see why you had to add that explanation. I can almost hear some snickers as people consider other meanings.
My high school offered fencing, but that was one of the classes, that were based on who you knew. It was filled with people in the popular people and the top echelon of the Honor Society. You had to be in good with the teacher.
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This poem could be taken so many wrong ways. I considered not posting it. Shame your school didn’t let everyone take fencing.
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Supposedly everyone could. But some teachers played favorites. That class was difficult to get in like autoshop and woodshop. You needed an in with the faculty.
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Guess you had to start making friends during freshman year then.
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Pretty exciting. Well done, Charles.
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Thanks.
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😁
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