The Pacific Typhoon Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

The canvas taut, a square of shadowed space,
Where sweat and fury leave their brutal trace.
Two figures poised beneath the glaring light,
A primal dance, a battle in the night.

The bell's sharp clang, a signal to engage,
A storm of leather, on a furious stage.
The jabs like lightning, swift and sharp and clean,
A calculated rhythm, a violent scene.

The hooks and crosses, thunder in their might,
A brutal symphony in fading desperate light.
The body blows, a grinding, aching pain,
A test of spirit in this driving rain.

The ropes a boundary where courage finds its test,
A corner's refuge where bruised spirits rest.
The count begins, a slow and heavy toll,
A fallen warrior, surrendering his soul.

The crowd's wild roar, a mix of fear and pride,
As battered bodies, their inner strength, confide.
A clash of titans where legends rise and fall,
The boxing ring, a brutal, sacred hall.