The Marcher:

This is a poem about how I accepted band,

Or, actually, band accepted me.

I needed a sanctuary,  

Something to secure my sanity.

 

The sun grills me alive,

While I reset pages in the drill. 

My rifle, I swear, has a mind of its own,

And my saber is out to kill.

 

I’m not a sweet person during practice,

Always concentrating on the choreography. 

Usually, I never stand still,

It makes me wonder why the bugs are after me.

 

The entire band is my family,

To wave, I always try.

Even if we’ve never talked,

I always stop and say hi.

 

Once you’ve felt the passion for the sport,

Band is hard to leave behind.

I’ll stay as long as I can,

Because this is where I shine.

 

I remember back in the day,

During freshman years band camp.

It was cloudy and all I spun was flag,

I was without any sores or cramps.

 

The way everything worked out made me believe, 

That God chose marching band as outlet for me.

Somewhere to always be myself,

And enjoy everyone’s company.

 

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