Balls of Fury

This poem is about the competition of racquetball, a sport I have played, and enjoyed for years.

Fury unleashed from internal depths of ball sacks,
exploding adrenalin felt throughout spectators,
adoring fans cheering and jeering;
Drenching perspiration dripping intensely
from foreheads onto the hard wood court below,
as urgency for blood spilled at the hands of a champion
sends thrills through hearts of ascended observers
who wait their turn for the challenge.

Bleeding, burning desire inflames passion across ten courts,
as players alike and different possessing various skills
take their positions for the thrill of victory, risking defeat
into the night; Only the strong survive and advance,
the weak will cry dazed in a trance with wonder of what
could have been? What might have been? What would
have been? What should have been? Wait for another day,
when the flame within is replenished for competition again.

Paul Hickey
10-27-11