The Inner Game Of Tennis Poem by Daniel Y.

Love all.

It starts in the diaphragm,
a deep inhale.
The object tossed,
offered to the sky.
At its apex,
exhale.

The reverse pendulum begins the metronome.
Forceful impacts carefully placed
compose this intricate dance.
The wide arch returns fury,
like cannon fire.
War is a game of strategy.
Shoot to kill.
Their concentration is as though
a high concrete wall were built in place of the net.
Repelling repeated attacks.
Barrages and volleys withheld,
The siege continues.

The feral particle betrayed by anticipation.
orbits erratically.
Hoping to catch a false footing.
A forgotten alley
or unguarded corner.
The lines are merciless.
Too hard or too weak
The fatal mistake,
FAULT! ! !

From loser loosed
no longer bound to the rules of the court
or smacked in vehement contest.
But rolls vigorously away.
The wall is broken.
Warm sea drops hang from rival brow.

Match.