The End


The smell of dirt and freshly cut grass fill the air.

I look around the familiar setting;

Chalk lines, bases, fans.

I take it all in, this is my last time afterall.

Fourteen of my eighteen years of life 

Have been dedicated to this game.

The field is where I feel most comfortable, 

Where I feel free.

Nothing is better than fielding that ball

And throwing that girl out at first base.

The knowledge that this is my last game is there,

The understanding has not yet hit me.

I move to my position, my team, no,

My family out there with me. 

As the game nears the end, 

The understanding of what it means

Finally makes its way to me.

This is it, the end.

The final play has been made,

There is nothing left but beautiful memories.





Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741