Well Played


When the guitar is strummed
And music swells the soul,
When the walls reverberate
Like nets behind a goal,
Then silence seems as loud
As a tense soccer crowd
Desperate to catch all
The moment being played
Because time soon runs out
And all great memories fade,
Because we are the score,
Played just once and no more.



Sometimes simplicity works fine and this one is right for a ‘young person’, I think. Why should poetry not be written for them?


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