Human nature requires many countless chances - a poem. |
Offering a plausible defense, Heady with dejection, A shell of a snail sits empty, Waiting to be struck By a crosswind or stride; The storm brings infinite purpose And contempt for the useful contrivance - Their baseball mitts are quick To grab at their youthful jaws, Out at those misty gatherings On the mound, To produce A healthy pitching strategy - Let’s throw them this pitch. My experience is that this batter Struggles with that kind of delivery In a certain location; And then get back in the dugout… A moment to peek at the baserunner. The ball is gripped correctly and tossed… It is skied toward the deepest part of the yard - The runner digs for home - The throw to home plate reaches the catcher Who applies the tag, And the out is recorded; A happy team jogs to the dugout, Referencing the good plays By each of their teammates, On this clutch variety Of well-executed acts… While elsewhere, future millionaire ballplayers - Struggling through slumps, Both at the plate And on the mound - Reconvene at the professional levels To kick the draft out of the proverbial door, And rise and descend Toward the tiers Of a magnetic skyscraper In the months and years ahead - The latest attempts at achieving A child’s dream of educating Their inner child’s powerful and wistful reckoning - A fantasy, a miracle, a dramatic, Storybook ending - Playing on the biggest stage of all. |