these men

who could know
that something so arbitrary
something so insignificant
in the general progression of my life
could cause me so much pain

on a green patch of grass
halfway across the world
men i do not know personally
hold my joy, my excitement, my pleasure
these men, these beings of skin, and flesh, and bone,
hold my passion and my sadness in their feet

these men who frolick on the patch of grass halfway across the world
these men are gods
these men are genius
but can also be demons
these men are footballers
and on that patch of grass
they create beauty

damn, i wish the World Cup could be every year
but i would end up doing nothing
and being nothing
if this happened every year

p.s. don't think my heart could handle it anyway