The Bad Man

A boxing story in poetic quatrain.

Johnny was a boxer
And fighting was his skill.
He fought and beat the best
On courage, strength and will.

For years and years he fought.
He put the rest to shame.
He thrived on every bout,
Each bloody fight the same.

The fans called him The Bad Man
And they knew his legend well.
A big and mean blood machine
Some say was sent from hell.

He massacred opponents
Who thanked God they still felt pain.
Both fans and boxers alike
Prayed to God to end his reign.

The veterans all left.
Young ones took their places.
The former called them fools,
Laughing in their faces.

One at a time they came.
Each left a bloody heap.
He lived off of their blood,
And yet, he lost no sleep.

Up through the ranks came Max.
All got out of his way.
He made himself well known
And waited for his day.

They both came to battle.
The fans wanted a war.
Two bloody rounds was it
And Johnny was no more.

Mighty Max is a boxer
And winning is his way.
He slaughters all the best,
For he has had his day.

None of it has mattered.
Johnny, Max, it's just a name.
Legend or The Bad Man,
It always ends the same.