In my hand I hold a ball.
White and dimpled, rather small.
Oh, how bland it does appear,
this harmless looking little sphere.
By his size I could not guess
the awesome strength it does possess;
My life has not been quite the same
since I chose to play this little game.
It rules my mind for hours on end.
A fortune it has made me spend.
It has made me curse and cry.
I hate myself and want to die.
I am promised a thing called 'Par'
if I can hit it straight and far.
To master such a tiny ball should
not be very hard at all.
But my desires the ball refuses
and does exactly as it chooses.
It hooks and slices, dribbles then dies
and disappears before my eyes.
Often it will have a whim to hit a tree
or take a swim.
With miles of grass on which to land
it finds a tiny patch of sand.
Then it has me offering up my soul if
it will just drop into the hold.
It's made me whimper like a pup, and swear that I will give it up
and take to drink to ease my sorrow.
But "The ball" knows...
I'll be back....tomorrow.
Anonymous
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