Sonnet 62 for Soccer
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Note:
there's an interesting image on my mind: an old grayhair man standing by the sideline watching some young men playing soccer at dusk. This image seems pretty stunning, poetic and iconic. Especially now I am an near middle age man, played many soccer games, I used to feel vigorous, ambitious, happy-go-lucky, hurry-shoot-score, nothing impossible, or do it anyway... pitch-pride moods on pitch, but recently I feel I am an old man, my temple hair gray, smile with sorrow-wrinkles, the distance btwn soccer pitch and me is stretching farther. So watching people playing soccer is more like an old man spiritual reflection than a boy or lad watching a match.
Men grow old, every man grows old, once a young man now standing by the sideline watching a bunch young blood fill the pitch kicking and yelling, reflection of the present moment and past, getting old is a beautiful process, when every part of this body fails to perform effectively, then mind is forced to meditate.
To love someone so deeply is love, and to love something so deeply is sin. Sin is a biblical word, literately means "Missing Target, To Miss". Especially for a man wasted his prime on the pitch, chasing soccer and goal, his boyish dream, instead of finding a woman and love or learning some career-wise stuff land a good job to take care his old parents, chasing soccer is also like obsessed for music, poetry, photo, film... even knowing that unrealistic interest would never turn to a career for food and rent, yet still searching topic and scene to forge some meaningful art that's an imitation of real life and authentic human connection, but there's some magic in pursuing something for life. I still admire people who do not regret, because a man should chase his dream and love period
Obsession is a miracle dose for men to stay forever young :-)
So come, my young grayhair friends,
let's paint our age with beauty of our days!
I cannot find a perfect photo for the image on my mind that fits Shakespeare's sonnet, but the following pictures could tell some part of the poem.
Old Man Portrait with His Old Ball
Old Man Juggling Kid's Ball
Mr. Ferguson Watching His Boys Soccer Match
