Diamond Dreams

Diamond dreams and boys of summer are made
Sometimes on semi-circle pastures of green
Where field hands inside and out
Surround a solitary slinger
Who stares intently at his battery mate
Catching his offerings
Throws meant to correspond to fingers
Shaping the air with speed and breaks
Baffling the lone swinger
He must decide within less than a second
Where and when to swing
Take that fateful crack with a bat
Sending a white world into orbit from home.

The feel of leather, wool and wood are known
By boys who grow to become men at work
Gambling with every pitch
Praying three out of ten would be
Good enough to earn a trip
Three white bags on a path around
Men in blue cry, “Play ball,”
“Strike, foul ball,” and “You're out”
Rules are meant to be fair
In a universe that isn't
So no one cries in this game
Because we play not for keeps
We dream just to safely get home.

One summer I returned to this simple ground
And I walked its dirt and grass once more
Taking in the empty bleachers
And remembering those mates
Who have disappeared or gone before
Some dreams are made of diamonds
And others take everything you have
Some players do not play fair
Because in Life rules get broken
Still I smile at diamond moments
And weep for others who have gone
But it is the game and its memories
I cherish to bring me home.

Copyright © 2017 Charles Edward York
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