Glory on the Pitch

By: Gus Victoria

Glory on the pitch,

The sport of empire

Stands now proudly

The sport of the world,

The ball is round

The dreams are vast

That move boss,

Inspire the worker,

And know no class.

Flags and crests,

Hearts in swollen chests

Beat with the rhythm of struggle,

With the hope of victory.

Between two poles

The net stands ready

To receive that mark of honor,

That goal,

The glory on the pitch.

Hold Stranger, Go Friend

By: Gus Victoria

Hold there stranger,

Know not you enter

A realm full of shadow

Darkest doubt

And boundless danger?

The heart is that organ

So fond of betrayal

That guides you here

Where none else may go,

None else may know.

Beyond here is no aid.

No redemption

If failure is your discovery,

No celebration

If glory you wrest instead.

Alone you must travel,

Each step taken

A step chosen,

Each fall

A risk

Each smile

A reward,

No map guides

And no lie hides

The truth you flee.

Do you persist then

To continue on,

To that false dawn?

No fetter slows

And no barrier impedes

Your journey as it grows

From fancy to obsession

Like a pendulum swinging,

Salvation to perdition,

Where will you cease

If here you continue?

Do as you must stranger,

No one writes your story

But you that holds the pen.

Do as you must friend,

No one compels you

To go beyond that singular path

You have chosen.

Stranger Dreams

By: Gus Victoria

The ideal in sacred parchment

Of philosopher nobles

Served as fertile soil

Free of corruptible elements

To the child of centuries

Whose own ideal was stillborn

In an Iberian cradle.

Bellicose and proud was the glory

Of ancient histories

Unknown and unforgotten,

Bent to the future,

Malleable as heated gold,

Worth far more,

Heavier than the leaden skies

That draped the day,

An unknown stranger in his own land,

He walked with vision,

He hoped

And he loved,

Each step on the path he chose

Closer to discovering

That which was hidden at birth,

Felt near

And left untouched,

A force pulling him forward,

Confusing him to action,

Filling a head with dreams,

A mystic chord unbreakable

Binds him to his land,

A future unwritten

Makes him lift his pen,

To write not alone,

But with the voice of his people,

The cry of millions,

He writes words they speak,

He believes works they do,

He sees a future

To share with the world.

In Mexico is the future born.

In Mexico is the world welcome,

In Mexico the stranger is no more,

There he is finally home.

Bellicose Harvest

By: Gus Victoria

Cold steel plows the land,

Blood soaks the soil

To grow the terrible harvest

That shades will reap,

The heroes fight no more,

Enshrined in glory,

Buried in earth,

Gaunt figures of State

Cry their valor

To the living.

The dead cannot object.

Gratitude flows from noble hearts

Beatifying the fallen,

To fill halls of honor,

No justice stands

To give form,

Only destructive chaos reigns,

Stalwart against humanity,

Darkness and the thick fog of regret

Sacrifice the future

Of a forgotten dawn,

Love drowns

As bullets fly,

Love cries,

As hope dies.