A Prayerful Balance - Power and Pride

A modern physical experiment - tears and sweat - a sports poem about rhythm and rhyme.

We’re mere, shaky mortals,
Make brilliant, calm plans -
Revving through portals,
And liking cool scans;
Deliciously proper,
We shoulder the fools;
Then play like a flopper,
Rely on these tools…

But such fine remembrance -
A staunchly firm balance -
Leaves nothing but remnants;
Restricts us of talents…
So strict like a fiddle -
And demonstrably big -
Can’t solve us the riddle,
Dust calculus or trig…

Boston or chocolate,
The banana, pure apple…
Then willfully talk a lot -
Prodigiously dapple;
Work for beam nothings -
Quaint closure - still far;
Cool these new something’s.
While bailing, shoot par…

The lined up edge dominoes
Might lean by full pushing -
Depressed by such throes;
While grabbing, keep shushing…
Sports’ microcosm -
The links - are pure gold;
Down in a chasm,
But, my, we’re so bold…