The beating sun stopped… a hopeful kid
In his wake it left him stumped… so he left the court.
Revisited the sight at the sight of someone else
and it rekindled a love for all things circular
Then she also left and in her wake, he was left, yet
the love was set and balls new. Lonely rackets and
the sun beat.
Shadows were in his wake.

Years later he picked up a pen.
The beating times did not stop him then
and he wasn’t alone. The tide of words flowed
together with a friend who lead him there.
Then he also seemed to leave and in his wake he
was left, yet the love was inscribed and papers blank.
Lonely pitter patter of keys and distractions were beat.
He feared that things would never change. He feared
the shadows in his wake.

The pen and racket became part of him.
Those two things he held close… perhaps a reminder
of a happier time. A lone ranger in his mind.
He used them and loved them like
useful portraits on a wall.
And with both
new people met. Some destroyed with aces
and others with ink.
A safe built… to forget the shadows in his wake

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