The Beautiful Game

All eleven lined up
Adrenalin coursing
Pouring on to a pitch perfect
Weight and ballast

These hallowed halls waiting
With a breath baited
Spat out in anger

Passion for a score
Of men who will deliver
Or won’t
But try

Over and over
Oblivion or the finishing line
Crossed for victory
We wait

The masses
A collective, ours
In the taking part
And the score

The final score
Made, won and saved

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