A Boxer Is A Boxer Poem by Randy McClave

A boxer is made, he isn't born
He was created from cartilage torn,
And also by a blackened eye, and a bloody nose
And scraped knees and ripped clothes.
He was created from fright and fears
And also by shame and worries and tears,
He was made in the streets and in the valley
He was also created in the back alley.
A boxer indeed is a true gladiator
Where the world is his spectator,
On no-one else does he or will he ever rely
Only upon his-self will he ever vie.
When a boxer steps into the boxing ring
He anxiously waits for the bell to ding,
He then releases his primal might
As he is prepared and trained and always ready to fight.
A boxer doesn't need a team or a squad
He is the captain and a leader and not a fraud,
He knows exactly why he exists
As he looks, and then he raises up his two fists.
A boxer remains a boxer even when he is old
His battles and wars many times to others he will have told,
And sometimes at him if you give a quick glance
He will once again, go into his boxing stance.
A boxer is a boxer, until his death
He will talk and reminisce about boxing until his final breath
And I will say this to every sir and or ma'am;
A boxer, I proudly am.

Randy L. McClave