A soccer ball is kicked from a foot,
quickly rolling across the grass.
The grass understands the ball's duty,
and lets itself be flattened
from the glossy sphere.
It's trapped by a cleat
that rolls it away from others.
It chops it, spins it,
taps it in quick motions.
The ball is released again,
being manipulated,
but it's still given a chance
to be a hero.
It has a chance to score,
to make a difference in the game.
A soccer ball is kicked from a foot,
being manipulated, but still given chances.
Manipulated Chances
More by maelynslavik
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Fields of Stars (of Women)
I want to see fields
Of girls
Standing tall to the sun,
Their imperfections
Shined upon the brightest,
Their souls sparkling
-
We Watched the Sunset Upside-Down
With hair dripping,
Splashed with the stars
Not yet visible to our eyes,
We jumped,
Dived,
Splashed into the pathway
Of sunlight
-
Dreams Like the Moon in His Eyes
This is from a much longer story in verse I'm writing, so it's quite out-of-context, but I really liked how this stanza turned out. Sometimes, like today, just one perfect-seeming part lights up my day.
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