Sunday, February 9, 2020 — 8:24 PM
While the good still die young, we’ll never get the answers to why death has no name.
Because love has no shame, who Cupid strikes, it seems he has no aim.
To the angels we miss, heavy hearted in the mist, there’s often no goodbye kiss.
To him: I used to wanna’ jump like you, shake and bake passing a few, to create rings with others who do too…
For us late-bloomers birthed by baby boomers, we take a path rarely desired by others in mass.
Idolizing the prodigies of a dribbling past. 13, oh my, I visualized what he knew as the…
No—we shouldn’t go there.
To be fair, my heart couldn’t bare.
Would it really matter what happened in the air?
Answers are irrelevant and our strength is how we grow from despair.
Mommy and daddy’s little girls you must’ve been their jewels and pearls.
This life’s a one in a million to grow old and make it through wicked morals.
Follow your dreams each moment, you may leave this world holding on to it.
Smiling down as each body now a part of nature’s bliss.
From here we appreciate the unity of each coach’s stint.
Building a thriving generation and there shouldn’t be a movie to recreate it.
But to each of our realities as sports has brought us this.
We ignore our differences to cheer.
Accepting pains through tears.
Uniting by numbers to remain here.
Collectively we love but never in vain.
For life is here, and death possibly near.
Be grateful you made it despite life’s fear.
One thought on “Where Numbers Drive From Here”