Okay, Sunday night at church I was asked to help a former student of mine with a writing assignment for Mr. Mason. No biggie...except she didn't have any inspiration for this poem and it had to be at least 30 lines. So I told her I'd write one for her to use as a guide. No problem...except it must be about a personal (meaning not mine) experience and she hadn't picked one out. Added to this was the topic we settled on: a volleyball tournament (I have little knowledge on volleyball) that she partook in. Anyway here is the fruit of my labors:
Globes of light erupt onto a furrowed brow,
vision becomes acute and muscles tense.
The anticipation of the goal; the final play.
It excites my senses to a heightened state of awareness.
The culmination of this years labors,
makes itself apparent in our movements.
We are man become one; we are legion,
we are focused on the goal and the prize set before us.
Victory comes and it is sweet like a fresh apple pie.
The concession stand provides us with the winners feast,
as the coach prepares for our next battle...
The fate of the district, is in our hands.
We have stayed the course and come in unto the enemy.
They look upon us with steely gaze as we take the field.
The first challenge is offered up unto us,
we serve a mighty return strike,
staking our claim to the cup.
Blow after blow and serve after serve,
create a fervent pace that quickens with each passing minute.
The final play, the winning point,
creates a sensation akin to the flight of an eagle.
The victory is ours, only to be replaced with yet another challenge.
The Burger King knights our group and bids us to partake;
the meal is succulent and savory to make the mind wonder.
Images of a brown slushy fill my head as the peon of the King takes my order.
But the time for laughter and games has come to an end.
The final challenge is before us,
the regional title will be ours!
And by my hand will I serve this defeat
onto a worthy opponent!
The battle becomes swift and we are blown away;
leaves in a maelstrom of the hurricane.
The end is a bitter thing,
the freezer burnt french fry or the moldy bun.
They pale in comparison to the loss we beheld on that day.
Total time: 3 hours...
