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The Men Within The Ropes

My son Trent has fought in a few amateur bouts and even won a gold medal at the Utah Summer Games. I came to admire his courage and tenacity in doing hard things.

The first round is a flurry from the flailing of the fists
Perhaps one punch connecting for the twenty five that missed.
Every fan’s a boxing coach; all counsel blends to roar;
The bell sends both to corners where they’re prepped to dish some more.

Another round sees combo’s thrown, though now somewhat restrained
A little blood, a lot of sweat, they settle in as trained.
Adjusting to the tactics the opponent now has shown
The most effective punches of the battle then are thrown.

The final rounds are grueling as the fighters gasp for air
Less able, less responsive, though the openings are there.
The heart remains as iron though the arms have turned to lead
The body slow responding to directives from the head.

The final bell, the judges meet, the gloves are now unlaced
One fist raised in triumph, still, neither man’s disgraced;
Few men have the courage to risk all for dreams and hopes;
Not creatures of the bleachers, they’re the men within the ropes.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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