One


We slowly crawl
Onto the field.
Nervousness tracing
Every foggy breath.
Our eyes are shadowed
By the night
We stand and wait,
Together,
For the coming fight.

Our focus is singular,
It is everlasting and ever present,
It does not waver to the crowd,
Calling voices,
Friends and foes,
Princes, beggars, saints, and villains
Are all the same before us now.
Our focus is eternal,
Immortal like the artificial green
Beneath our matching black soles.

We wait for the call,
For the word,
We are restless,
We are anxious,
Yet not a muscle moves among all of us.
We are patient.
Our eyes are glued to those who await
The coming fight.

Sound is muffled,
Cold irrelevant fact
Pushed aside,
For our time
Is coming now.
She is there, before our eyes,
Across the field she glides.
She floats to her throne,
Upon it she stands,
Her hands at her sides.
We wait for them to rise.
We anticipate the word.
We dread it,
Yet it is all we want.
Our damnation and salvation in one.
Our hearts pound,
Our lungs expanded, lips wetted,
We remain statuesque.
We await the word.
Silence.
And then.

Detail, ten-hut.

And then we are One,
We are together,
The lines are drawn and weapons raised,
The audience cheers and our fears are razed.
We earn our glory, and make our name
We show the world how we play our game
On our battlefield
As One we fight,
We march as One this Friday night.

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About theonlyjoe

I am Joe. This is a collection of my ramblings, poems, stories, afflictions, victories, and the picture of my mind. Make yourselves at home. View all posts by theonlyjoe

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