Fist of Fury

In the ring, a warrior stands tall, His fists clenched, his spirit enthralled. With every punch, a story's told, Of trials faced, of battles old. His eyes burn bright, like stars in night, Reflecting the fire that fuels his might. The sweat upon his brow, a testament to his strife, A champion's will, a warrior's life. The gloves, a symbol of his craft, A shield and sword, in this dance of strength and craft. He moves with purpose, a force so bold, A whirlwind of power, a tale to be told. In this moment, he is free, A master of his destiny. The roar of the crowd, a distant hum, As he faces forward, his will to become. The tattoos on his skin, a map of his past, A journey marked, a story to forever last. His bald head glistens, like the moon's pale glow, As he embodies strength, in every way he goes.