Writings Poetry

Foul


Oh how it kisses your feet every time!
Your feet stops; the bells sound
Too noisy, the crowd’s cheer—why
Are the bells this time too loud?

Oh scars! Your head bowed down,
Water dripping from your sweating forehead
It takes you time to force yourself to look around
Now you’ve lost—the pack you led.

Flashing stares, flashing lights
Noisy crowds, noisy thoughts;
A prodigy proclaimed on the spotlight
The king who played against the host.

For you: Oh, the bitterness!
A chance you defended to the end!
For them: Oh, the sweetness!
A chance they pursued to the end!

Here comes the last of opportunities—
The comfort of your home, you seek.
What comes? Either loss or victory
Bring with you the wholeness of your fleet.