Silent Arena

In the stillness of the ring, shadows dance upon the wall, A stage for battles fought, where warriors once stood tall. The lights, like beacons bright, illuminate the empty space, A canvas waiting for the drama of a fighter's face. The ropes, a gentle curve, a boundary 'twixt dream and might, The floor, a testament to sweat, to pain, to endless fight. The chandelier above, a crown, a symbol of the prize, A challenge to the brave, to step into the fray and rise. In this quiet moment, the arena whispers tales of old, Of triumphs and defeats, of hearts that beat like drums of gold. The silence is a pause, a breath, a moment to reflect, On the courage that it takes to step into the ring and inspect. The shadows on the wall, a reminder of the past, A testament to those who fought, who loved, who won at last. The empty ring, a stage, waiting for the next to come, To dance, to weave, to fight, to be reborn.