It was to be heard before the night stands,
The field was set on fire with miracles,
Players turn to God to answer their prayers,
A game; sweat pour like the river,
Pain was all over their bodies,
Tired of being failures,
Just one sound, they were waiting for,
The game was almost over,
And just one sound needs to be heard,
The field was a dead end,
You couldn't escape your fears, your pain, and your failureness,
The sound that last forever,
It encourages you to try some more,
It reminds you of how mighty you can be,
Echoes that beats the heat of failureness away,
'The Victory Is Ours' that's all they were waiting for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really enjoyed it. A really great write.