The Ring


I can smell it, the stench of iron hanging in the breeze,
looming over me like a dark cloud.
Mercilessly following me, urging me to give in,
I can barely hear it trying to talk.
Block it, it whispers,
protect yourself, it screams.
Piercing pain cracks my skull momentarily,
I can brush it off, just focus.
He’s gaining on me.
My mind speeds up, like a racehorse on a track,
block, jab, right hook.
Blood pours from my nose, broken
It is nothing bad I whisper, it will heal.
Medics rush to me, flooding the corner.
The cornerman seems to be saying something I can’t hear,
only whispers of moves I already know.
Grinning at me, my opponent watches in triumph,
he thinks he has already won
Little does he know, I have him right where I want him,
I stand, returning my mouthguard to the proper place.
I move faster than lightning,
he barely has time to blink, or move.
My fist screams in pain as it connects with his eye,
blood pours from a cut I seemed to have caused.
I watch as he falls, broken and asleep.

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This Poems Story

This one is about boxing, inspired by a friend of mine.