Blow After Blow
Blow after blow lead to puddles of blood,
Mixed in with broken glass, perspiration and mud.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!", comes energized noise,
And from the death match rises a boy.
As flurried fists fly faster than light,
His eyes are fire and his heart is ice.
Would there be, or could there be, a fatal blow?
Neither the crowd nor the young one knows.
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