The Boxer

A right to the face, cheekbones are creaking,
He stumbles, stutters and falls,
His eyes are swollen, he’s taken a pounding,
Never before in his brawls,

The bell he hears ringing, sweet, brass relief,
He scrambles his way from the floor,
He sits in the corner and shakes like a leaf,
To face the onslaught once more,

“He’s you killing you kiddo, that much is clear,
You must feel your anger inside,
Let rip with rage with all you hold dear,
and thrash this bold scoundrel aside”,

The bell sang out, the round began,
He stood toe to toe on the floor,
His hands were a flurry, his fear had ran,
and head to the changing room door,

A left to the stomach, a rib gave way,
His enemy stood wincing in pain,
A final haymaker, the earth stood still,
The boxer, a champion, remained.