Didn't start out this way, 

Was always an innocent boy,

Curly haired, lively, out of control,

Could sometimes be. 

 

Play fighting was instinctive,

Big Daddy, Bruce Lee and Mad Harry,

The names,

Associated with me.

 

This anger,

Aggression and wildness

Charatarastic trait

From Primary.

 

Now understand the origins,

Back then, 

Was what we did before,

Everyone played with their PC.

 

Then came the shock,

HORROR,

Entrenched wounds,

DEEP.

 

During those formative years,

There was silence,

No expected back chat from a boy,

That pedigree. 

 

Heavy isolation,

Depression,

Sadness were a mark  

This journey. 

 

Only until the boxing gloves came on,

Able to escape

That,

Dark reverie.

 

Fitness, training and sparring,

New medicine 

Of the day,

Happily.

 

Took to it like a 'Fish called Wander' ,

Would be say

John Cleese is not,

Fun-nay. 

 

As the clocked ticked by,

The fights,

Came forward,

in and out of training.

 

Stamping on heads,

Butting peoples noses, 

Punching people in the face,

Happily.

 

 To experinece red mist,

Is something only a fighter,

Can cope with well,

Rationally.

 

To enjoy pain in the moment,

Delirious as hell, 

Over time, things change,

Wearily. 

 

To look back at this time,

With much wonder,

Realise, My world,

Truthfully.

 

Thank the lord,

For getting me through this,

Could have been dead and buried,

History.

 

Violence,

Ugly,

who we used to be,

Childishly.

 

Yet if the youth,

Today,

Would listen,

More faces on the streets we would see. 

 

Avoid,

Knife Crime, 

Deaths, 

Tragically.