The Old Socks - A Freewrite Poetry.
The goals won't stop
Pouring in like rain
Corner kicks entering like pop
Fans go gaga, put off there tops
The crowd cheering we want more
It's the last match of the icon.
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Dark was the journey
The balm of fame, the spell of success
All of them, he was in search
His soul they might take, he's in charge
Decisions made, it's the UEFA
Dark was the journey
An old socks they gave.
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First match was blurry
So was the next
Third was warming
So was the fourth
Believe in the socks
The sorcerer's words stamped on his thoughts
He didn't doubts the spell
But was afraid of the curse.
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The win came in droves
Soon, his name filled tabloids
The legend they all said
None could decode the magic of his legs
Deep in the success lies the curse
At every goal, the legends leg had a pulse
The fame, the curse, irreversible
And the win keep coming in droves.
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An entry into @mariannewest everyday Freewrite
I like poems, and this one is very interesting, good work.