Featured poems from our sports editor

Matthew Johnson
   Sports Editor

June, hanging heavy with odors red

Dawns on this conscientious life,

A far-off player, an unwelcomed silhouette.

Those pillars of all those talked about souls

Makes me death, awwnd stiffly cold.

Take me away from these hard and sanctifying stones

And let me sink deep, away from that unmoved nature.

You see me haunted by the long-ago companies,

Yet, you spin your crackled tales of dedicated bones.

Will you just let me drop from this space alone?

Release the guise of your romantic existence

And let me give you my vision of homeless spirits.

You shall see my world of nowhere,

Where death has caught dreams and life.

But, while it overwhelms me, it does not end,

Because I ran.

If your gnash teeth bite and say, “these are acts unfit men,”

Then continue building, and you be prepared to fight.

Still, you call me human unnerved to self-being…

I just want to hear the new Earth’s petal chimes.

I just want to be an old man in springtime.

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