The old black leather cleats with streaks of pink and white

Hang still by my window sill, 

The crusted brown dirt and green grass stains 

Left from years ago. 

They still hold those 13-year-old memories 

Of playing 5 v 5 on the little fields,  

Kids running every which way 

All acting as if they were as fast as a cheetah.

And the sound of parents clapping, 

Cheering on their little ones. 

The spikes getting stuck in the holes of the playground,

Or standing in line on the pavement

Waiting for a blue raspberry and cherry swirl ring pop.

I've gone through numerous pairs,

Ranging in sizes.

They hold special memories, 

Playing on different teams in different leagues. 

Not all of them hold these beginning memories 

That made my soccer career.

As it all comes to an end,

I have my current size 6 cleats 

And my beginning youth 10 cleats.

The two have completely different meanings,

One is a start 

And the other is an end.