The colors are what struck me when I looked into the stands,
As a million multicolor dots on a pointillist painting.
There were relentless waves of cheers filling my head from all directions
And the hair on my body had no choice but to stand at attention,
Creating a pleasure and pain that was addicting.
Each week.
The adrenaline rush was like a liquid that I had to drink,
As found water in a desert, guzzled until I was full to the brim
But instantly wanting more. I was drowning each week in adulation,
Adrenaline, sound, and color.
The price to be paid for that intoxication was work,
As physically demanding as I could withstand,
But worth it.
My body, barely recovered from the previous
Saturday’s battle, ached but pressed onward as the next Saturday was beckoning
As a sea siren.
The very thought of Saturday afternoon, the scent of grass,
And the cheering crowd, drove my effort and my bruised and battered body
Through one more practice in order to prepare for what was to come.
I recall making my way through town,
Wide eyed children with smiles as bright
As Friday night lights as soon as they recognized my face.
Older men, adoring my adonis body and wondering if they
Could still compete with me, envy in their eyes.
Women, with eyes that belied their provocative desires
And me, wondering the same, the fruits of being
A player, at my physical peak.
I knew that time would not last
But drank deeply from the waters of youth
In an effort to prolong the magic.
I knew that all glory was fleeting,
And memories of me would soon fade to non existance,
But never believed it to be true.
Now, I stand alone.
Long off the mountain top, now living in a sea of never were’s,
I search for once was, but no cheers exist.
The click clack of my footsteps reverberate through the tunnel of
The old autumn cathedral, wondering what time has left me,
Only to find faint echoes of sights and sounds
Which filled my Saturdays as I enter the empty space.
Youth and glory have abandoned me
And tossed me aside as some used old rag.
What fills my days now is nothing more than longing
For that which once was,
But finding only despair as my companion in an empty room of existence.
So I am left to contemplate a fate
That is so repulsive I can scarcely imagine
Having the will to follow through.
It is nothing I believe in but all that may be left to me.
Standing on the field, How I long for the past,
How I ache for the cheers.
How I wish for the pain in my body to return.
I turn to exit one last time,
Trying to recapture the magic,
On my way out.
