Steel Grid
By Brian Patrick Roach
The game -
Rush sprinting veins -
Beating, breaking, bleeding -
Morphing men to crazed animals -
Steel Grid.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Numbers of Chi-town
The Numbers of Chi-town
By Brian Patrick Roach
The numbers of Chi-town,
So many of fame,
Defines our crown.
Fifty-one, ripped off heads with a frown
Unsatisfied, explosion awaiting, taking aim.
The numbers of Chi-town.
Thirty-four, sweetly running the ground…
Over the entire game,
Defines our crown.
Twenty-three, flying abound,
Takin’ the last shot with no shame.
The numbers of Chi-town.
Fifty-four, side-to-side a drooling grey hound,
Almost corrupted by a blonde dame,
Defines our crown.
Our city, our home, our sound,
Roaring, Stampeding, the same.
The numbers of Chi-town
Defines our crown.
By Brian Patrick Roach
The numbers of Chi-town,
So many of fame,
Defines our crown.
Fifty-one, ripped off heads with a frown
Unsatisfied, explosion awaiting, taking aim.
The numbers of Chi-town.
Thirty-four, sweetly running the ground…
Over the entire game,
Defines our crown.
Twenty-three, flying abound,
Takin’ the last shot with no shame.
The numbers of Chi-town.
Fifty-four, side-to-side a drooling grey hound,
Almost corrupted by a blonde dame,
Defines our crown.
Our city, our home, our sound,
Roaring, Stampeding, the same.
The numbers of Chi-town
Defines our crown.
Addict
Addict
By Brian Patrick Roach
Beneath
The mask it grew -
My fury pained others -
Hate was my drug upon the field;
Addict.
By Brian Patrick Roach
Beneath
The mask it grew -
My fury pained others -
Hate was my drug upon the field;
Addict.
The clock strikes zero and upon the field ...
The clock strikes zero and upon the field…
By Brian Patrick Roach
Eleven heads hang low in heart breaking
Loss on a tear, sweat, blood, bruised grid-iron
That echoes it’s witnessed courage through souls
Of young men triumphant despite defeat.
Win not a win if your blood has not been shed and stained grass
proud.
Loss not a loss if left between those two goal lines lays your heart.
By Brian Patrick Roach
Eleven heads hang low in heart breaking
Loss on a tear, sweat, blood, bruised grid-iron
That echoes it’s witnessed courage through souls
Of young men triumphant despite defeat.
Win not a win if your blood has not been shed and stained grass
proud.
Loss not a loss if left between those two goal lines lays your heart.
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