Football Poets

Heaven scent

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 As it is in heaven…
The sound, of cherubic angels
Chorused, all around the ground
The plaudits, were all mine
The adulation, was divine
As the mercurial hero, stooped, and took his bow
In adoration, the meek wondered how
This kindred spirit, upon mortal coil
Could spring so spritely, across the soil
How no defender, could spoil nor sully
As ploughed furrow, gave way to gully
Nothing could stop, this superman in his tracks
Physically unbowed, an astonishment to the quacks
As broken body, but phantasmical mind
Puts behind, memories of the daily grind
And into fitful sleep
A beautiful game does creep
An invasion
Of his own persuasion
In which he turns, from lowly worm
No longer content to squirm
But metamorphs, into voracious predator
Profiteering, this acclaimed creditor
Sniffing out, every half chance
All set, with celebratory dance
To entertain, the appreciative hordes
His name shines out, from neon scoreboards
A glittering career, that age cannot wither
As he darts, so elusively, hither and thither
And exclusively, only he alone
Can finish, so conclusively
With nostrils flaring, sans pince nez
He swoops, does the business
His olfactory senses, working overtime
Not created, from any production line
But honed, to perfection
Any impurities, above inspection
Heroic, in his hunt
As he leads from the front –
In this mirage
A glut, a barrage, a barrowful of goals
Rain down from on high
Imbuing, the bestowed, with a fanciful cry
Amn’t I, truly, the greatest!

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 But then of course I awake
The clattering, clunking, klaxon call of the alarm clock
Shuddering my body upright, still in shock
Not so much at the earliness of the hour
As the draining of the power
As the battery charged sleep, ebbs away
And there’s no more play
Suffice to say
As morn comes dawning
So does the awful realisation
And desperate disappointment
At the reality
That this was, and always will be, just a dream

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