I watched the fight fall,
on that white mat he bled.
I looked into his eyes,
and found them a blazing red.
His lips were moving,
yet no words escaped.
Was he felled by a better man,
or was he failed by fate?
They began the countdown
to prove he was out.
I joined in with them.
of his loss, there was no doubt.
“5…4…3…2… “ suddenly the fighter stood.
Legs now under him, he was righted.
From his corner flew in a towel,
he flung it back, his anger now ignited.
The ref whispered, “You’re done kid,
this fight is through.”
He shouted at the ref, “No it ain’t”
“Okay then fight”, what was the ref to do?
We in the crowd shook our heads,
as the fighters returned to center ring.
I saw the blood run down his face
as each blow landed with its painful sting.
There is no fantastic tale here,
The fighter fell again and again.
Each time he got up,
We knew he couldn’t win.
When the final bell rang,
The fighter struggled to his seat
We waited and he listened,
as the judges reported his defeat.
The victor walked over
and kindly stuck out his hand.
The bloodied fight stood,
and they shook man to man.
I think of that fighter,
when my going gets really tough.
I never stay long on the mat
because I saw that fighter fall,
and I then watched as he got back up.
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