Our mission: to explore the perfect swing,
The easy uppercut, the solid sound,
The bat directed smoothly to the ground,
The skyward peek to see what’s taking wing.
The ball is launched, and soon our eyes project
The missile’s life ahead, its quick ascent,
Its long, lingering peak, the slow descent
From grand success to accomplished respect.
But suddenly, an unexpected hand
Just reaches up and catches us off guard,
Abruptly snatching down our visions, hard:
Our dreams don’t always end the way we planned.
We rage at being victims of deceit,
Misled by expectations; this foul theft
Aborts our lofty dreams, and all that’s left
Is the unbearable arc, incomplete.