Blood tinged with the taste of iron
As it follows the ridges that
Move the fluid like aqueducts, and
Deposit it into my mouth.
I let it pool and sit like stagnant water
Until I spit and paint the canvas
A mosaic of Crimson Red that represents
All the hours that you spent
Drenched in sweat from all the rounds commenced
Never overwhelmed by what you underwent
This red’s respect, across from me
A nodding head with arms and legs, and
He bleeds like me.
Inside these ropes we are all silent poets
Unspoken codes and a violent
Calm devotion to only speak with
Measured fists and feints.
Inner pain hidden behind punch combinations
Like a writer hides his heart behind a metaphor.
You never see the crowd all circled round
Like a pack of laser focused vultures
Looking for scraps of skin to feed
Some inner need to watch a warrior bleed.
They root for me, as long as I stand tall upon my feet, but
A buckled knee creates a switch of scenes,
Now they scream and plea for him to finish me.
I list as if this ring sits
Atop a ship hit broadside by rogue waves, but
A fighter hides his pain within a flame
Kept deep inside a hanging lantern
That adorns his heart and keeps him standing.
Now he moves with clenched fists
To man the sails and turn the ship, and
Aim it right at his, because if your drowning
You know **** well he is coming with
Body shots placed straight under his ribs
Now he sinks quick, gasping for air
Afloat on hope alone, searching for a beacon
To lead him from the deep end, but
He heads for the cliffs at the end of your fist, and
Your shoreline is his jawline
He washes up stiff, rinsed out and spit
Like the blood on your lips.