On the pitch

By
Sitting, standing, hunched over,
kneeling, curled up, lying flat on your back,
your eyes glaze and emotions take over.
Some stare into the sky, looking for answers,
as others look thoughtlessly into the ground,
observing everything beneath them.
All try to make sense of what just happened.
Some remove their gear, moving on,
but the only thing running through their minds
is the last ninety minutes.
“There is always a winner and always a loser.
It happens the way it happens.”
Says the broken record you call your parents.
The play-by-plays still run frantically through my mind,
and there’s no way of controlling them.
How do I leave the pitch
after I’ve played so hard and I’m not satisfied?
I know there will be more games,
but it will never be the same.
So many laughs, so many tears,
so many fouls, so much fear,
but in the end, it’s only a game.
Right?





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