Half Time

Half Time

A warning from the winds,
What the spirit carries: no fumbles.
It brings the stories of the sun to the touchdown!
Lessons from the huddle, from the coach,
Under a lunar eclipse.

Last game of the season,
In the third quarter-
We scramble for the setup.

Because our die-hard fans watch,
and our fragile lives loom on it.
Then, the snap.
The stadium noise fades into silence.

No roar from the fans, just a sigh in the air.
The inner motion of the play
is as the ball arches upward.
Suspended above the green turf.

A leap for the pylon, reaches for the end zone.
Where the home team claims its own.
The stadium clock strikes zero, 
Frozen inbound waiting for their hero.
For the final score.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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