The 1978 World Cup is famous for many reasons. It could be the famous extra time goal from Mario Kempes sending the Argentine home crowd crazy as they moved to a first World Cup win on home soil, or the dark cloud that hung over the tournament to start with.
Allegations of political manipulation of the tournament by the new military junta were rife, echo’s of Hitlers 1936 Olympics or Mussolini’s 1934 World Cup were there for the world to see and the tournament itself was labelled “The Dirtiest World Cup of All Time.” So in many ways, it’s debatable…
Confusing at first but subtly the best, he moved with a graceful ignorance of what it is perceived to be human, blissfully unaware it had been nearly a millennia and maybe even a second. We, he believed, had lost all thought of that and maybe some other thoughts along the way, we couldn’t quite say. “I could always show you? in a way it’s easier just to see.” She thought if anything he had become even harder to understand, an understatement. But everything about that man was impossible, and that box, it almost seemed to move…
On a cold and wet night on Mesphelas, that dark and dingy outpost not too far away from the edge of the known, lies a small shed that’s far away from anything, called Hope. It has a sign above it asking all those who enter it to give up, something that started out as a joke but has now become something of a legend, a dark history that has a reputation to uphold. The wind tries to batter it down but its foundations are made from something more, time has tried to wither it, and failed. Out of nothing and…
A day when Luna ends and sola rises,
Rise from a bed and walk to bed if your legs will carry
Any burden you’ve carried from time to time.
These past days of the past years that you have burdened or
Have burdened you I believe lay empty and void of purpose,
They are not.
A journey of miles through solar, a journey of miles through Spain,
A long night or nothing but the stars for day.
Day or night is an enigma of time or the flickering blue ocean that we drive past,
Where rocks crash into dreams and splash away fantasies
That you dreamt a burden ago.
A flickering summer burns on a burgeoning dawn
I who had four eyes can see nothing,
Yet, I see.
Wolves, circling their feast like leaves falling off the tallest of tree’s,
Rain and power and everything our hearts yet desire.
Moving slowly to their prey,
Your lingering thoughts subside like an age old footprint in age old clay.
And this fire,
This fire brimming with a passionate intensity,
Rage and anger and everything we created takes all breathe away and leaves nothing.
Nothing at all, but emotion.
No song nor dance,
Cash floating and burning in the air and people striving to do worse
Than ever before!
Just trying my hand at writing, one story at a time. Aspiring author, football journalist and poet.