Once an artist, I remember painting the field With the ball's movements. Sometimes the movement Delivers the message. Sometimes lack of movement Is the message. The opponent, Acts as the audience, Chasing the hologram you project With full conviction; Quickly realizing, It is a vision that's gone missing. The canvas quickly resets Like an Etch A Sketch, And each time requires a present vision. Who is the audience? Shall I carry? Shall I conceal? Shall I send, Or shall I reveal? It was a beautiful art scene on this field, Where every artist paints With their heart as the brush. Nobody paints with fear Worrying how their picture will be seen. They just dance, Placing their full love Into every touch. By: Kurtis Lunz