Lyoto KO, MMA Sports Poem

Lyoto KO

Below the jaw a gentle punch,

A flying kick, the dental lunch,

Incisor, cuspid bent to munch,

The wiser lad, intent to crunch

Machida, raring from Brazil

(the masses staring, glaring, still)

He passed Rashad this snoozing pill:

Out-sassed his bruising, martial skill.

2 Thousand Nine, 2-Thousand-Ten,

Light Heavyweight belonged to him,

The Octagon, his private gym

He made, when his left upper limb

Extended as his fist, all dense,

And blending mass and jaw, all tense,

While karma - justice - providence

Combined within the stop-sign fence.

The sign glared, not toward Ly it bade

(the symbol shouting, Shad be slayed

His reign we ended, madly flayed).

His bane though, kin, Machida made.

So when a year's sun rose and set,

Then clearly came a twin regret,

The fray remassed and then begat:

A K-O lost Ly's Rua spat.

A great one knows the uphill climb,

A fate, one grows: slow, grim, sublime,

While one dim truth attends the mind:

akin, the Loss and Win combine.

No Loss falls solely evil then;

No Win's all holy, without sin,

The mate who mixes both their troy*

Fate fixes stronger, with alloy.

*weight system for fine metal

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