I behold the quiet stadium.
The stench of sweat, the odor of fear,
Breathless whispers as hands clench handkerchiefs.
A nervous hum vibrates through the crowd,
And the blinking light blinds those who look a second too long.
Even from here, the shame emanating from the mass is overpowering, sour.
Yet, no matter how much sweat they wipe away,
How much fear they repackage and send off into the near darkness,
They can never clear the stench.
The air is suffocatingly bitter,
And each questioning pair of eyes leans inward, hoping and despairing
At their cruel, blissful ending.
YOU ARE READING
A Touch of Wonder
PoetryA book of poetry filled with thoughts, experiences, and emotions. "As I walk down the slippery street, My face streaming with tears, The sadness can barely be sustained. But you suddenly kiss away my fears, My dear umbrella in the rain."
