Time to step up to the plate, now it's time to be a man.
Analyzing the infield, all I see,
is her I'm ignoring at first,
at second, she, who I should have let go, but I'm still hoping to reach.
the one i can only dream of at third.
The ball is my chance.
First pitch, a strike.
First is cute, but would i be happy?
Second is good looking and smart, should i stop pretend, or do I really have a shot?
Thrid is beautiful, is it even possible for me?
The chance is getting away from me, as I take a fastball for strike two.
The 90 feet to first base feel longer than ever, second base looks like it's out of reach, am I even thinking about third?
The pitch is on it's way, to hit a longball is out of question, a base hit might be possible,
is there a chance I could stretch it to second?
I'm swinging and making contact,
Is it a hit?
Am I grounding out and missing my chance att first?
Is this the start of the game? Are we in the bottom of the ninth?
I don't know anymore,
And when will I know the answer? Was it a hit? Was it a ground out?
Will i ever know?
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Inspired by my own situation, and inspired by the game of baseball and difficult decisions.
Comments about this poem (The Diamond by Joel Nilsson )
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