Soccer in It's Rawest Form

When our feet hit the field,
We no longer have legs but wings,
We run with skill, speed, and agility,
We toss our bodies to and fro,
As if they were instruments of war,
We can hear the crowd roar,
And it is but a silent sqeak,
Compared to the sound of 44 feet pounding the ground,
Twisting and turning with as eyes as fire,
Our minds are set as a hunter on its prey,
We will not rest until victory is in our hands,
We are as wild as beast yet are swift as gazelle's,
We are rough and ruggid and will not stop,
We are warriors of the field,
Our outward is scared and beaten,
Yet our spirit is pressing and determined,
We fight until there is nothing left,
Until the our very sweat is begging for mercy,
We are united as a strong wall of victors,
And will not be easily overtaken,
We are not soccer players,
We are ...
Soccer in its rawest form.

-Amanda De Witt