The Fast Lane

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the greatest sport...TRACK

Submitted: June 08, 2008

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Submitted: June 08, 2008

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There’s nothing but silence until-

Bang!  The gun is shot,

each runner then off in a flash.

A straight-away,

a curve,

going faster,

faster.

I hear them close behind

my competitors, my opponents.

Their thundering footsteps,

their erratic gasps for air,

going faster,

faster.

They keep pushing harder,

pushing me harder.

To make the finish line,

 to win.

Beads of sweat

form above my brow,

like dew droplets in the morning.

My face hot-

an iridescent array of red.

My muscles tight, my senses numb

my heart  pounding, my eyes glazed over

with determination.

I can taste the saltiness

entering my lips

as I clench my teeth,

clench my fists,

pushing myself harder to the edge,

to the extreme.

I can hear my teammates cheering,

screaming on the sidelines

“Come on! You got this!”

Growing louder with every step,

going faster,

faster.

It’s the last 100 meters-

The end is in arm’s reach,

so close.

I thrust my body forward

with every last bit of strength

and I cross the finish line.

Full of pride,

glory,

accomplishment.

Yet-

I can barely breathe,

my chest rising and falling-

as does a wave in the ocean.

My eyes stinging, my throat dry-

 rough as sandpaper.

It all may seem like pain-

but the worst pain of all,

 is not giving everything you have.


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