The Essence of Purity

Editor's Note: Watching the Zards Friday night, Cap City felt a fire in his belly, and the only cure was sweet, sweet poetry. What follows is a meditation on youth and folly.

Into the eyes of the defender he gazes

A lion surveying his prey

Whether he will score isn't a question

The only one being which way

Like a Titan, with strides enormous

He journeys across the lane

The helpless Nugget following

Desperate, seeming in vain

A vision, a young Kareem

The ball he flicks with his wrist

These eyes have seen beautiful sights

But none as pure as this

The sphere arcs steadily upward

Apollo in morning flight

Then begins the graceful descent

As the chariot retires by night

The stadium, captivated, tenses

With bated breath it awaits

While nine other warriors battle

Rebounding position at stake

With certainty the deliverer watches

The misused future of the NBA

As the skyhook he so gracefully floated

Comes down to rest at bay

Yet somehow the net remains motionless

Undisturbed in its repose

Anyone who previously doubted

Now with certainty knows

Airball.

Stop shooting skyhooks JaVale.