Gray steam rises from the sod
Obscuring the outlines
Of eleven men who would be God
If their teammates become so first.
The sky is darkness no one sees
Behind the lightning wall.
The crowd is warm despite the breeze
And bravado shields a heart’s true thirst.
A coin is flipped, a ball is thrown,
And bodies slowly shatter,
A ring is forever. A broken bone?
A pittance to the undying.
And so they fight, part man, part boy
So does decay commence.
They’ll either bottle tears of joy.
Or else just end up crying.
Here we see the warriors die,
Although they call it play,
Our voice is one great battle cry
To lend the few our will.
No longer are our swords so deft,
But fantasy’s alive.
Long ago the dragons left,
But here there’s magic still.