The Soul Of The Game. Poem by Rob Roselund

The days now seem to come and go without notice,
Much of my life faded away with the wind,
The sweet smell of blooming flowers and fresh cut grass filling the air,
Awaking the spirit of the game I loved without even knowing,
A simple game that forever set itself in my blood,
Pushing and coursing it's way through my body,
A feeling of something so familiar it became second nature,
Many of my youthful days spent starring down a concrete wall,
Pitch after pitch striving for the next to be faster and more accurate than the last,
Cinder blocks lining the ground for the random pattern of fly balls and grounders,
Old glass bottles standing between me and a perfect strike,
The warm sun on the back of my neck took relief as the cool spring breeze swept over my body,
Those days I will never forget,
When I took the field I felt at home,
The stress and worries of everyday life fled from my mind,
I knew this was what my life was meant to be,
I was never good at much but this game,
This game was a piece of the puzzle that fit so right,
My talent never denied yet constantly overlooked,
As I was never the jock or the friend of a sons father,
The game slowly slipped away from my graces,
Year by year I sat and watched many who took advantage of privilege,
I saw my stats bury anyone in competition, yet I remain unseen,
The few who took notice never cared enough to open any doors,
And my love for the game stopped growing in the face of corruption,
Something so pure, so beautiful, a greatness that could have been,
No longer set afire the ambition I once kept within,
To watch a dream float farther and farther out of my reach,
The hopes I once had, became realities I'd never accomplish,
Still to this day, the sun on my back and the sweet scented air,
Remind me of days once lost, and the soul that once lived.