The Fighter

The fighter’s a dancer, it’s one deadly ballet.
He looks for an opening, a moment’s delay.
The fighter doesn't fight men, he conquers the odds,
He chokes out his demons and reveres the gods.
The fighter doesn't do it for the money or fame.
When the fighter retires, he’ll still be the same.
The fighter’s convictions, like his hands, are steady and firm.
The respect he gives others is the respect he’s earned.
The fighter’s a hero, he fights for his fans,
But when the fight’s over, it’s alone he stands.
The fighter’s heart is heavier than most
To many a doubt it has played host.
Though the mind is weak and the body is sore,
The spirit is hungry. The fighter wants more.
The fighter never loses, he only falls
To rise again and heed the call.
He’s swift with his hands and quick with his mind,
The fighter’s a thinker, the last of his kind.
His scars hold the stories of a hundred battles
Oh the tales they could tell if those knuckles could tattle.
Alone in the clearing, he kneels broken and bruised.
It was a life not wasted, it was put to good use.
The fighter’s life is an inspiration to those who live
Never to give up and never to give in.
The fighter’s greatest victory isn't in any ring
It isn't heralded by a final “ding!”
It’s alone in a bed, where he slowly dies
He sheds no tears, there’s no reason to cry.
Surrounded by friends, he’s dignified
He’s won the fight, he can claim life’s prize.

There’s a fighter in you and a fighter in me…
What tales will they tell when our prize is achieved?