I stretch, I bounce, I greet the crowd.
They clap and chant my name out loud.
I've made the final, I'm so proud.
I'll go for gold, that's what I've vowed.
The starter calls us to the blocks,
I tweak my shades, pull up my socks.
The referee resets the clocks,
I try to think outside the box.
The guys to right and left break fast
I must stay with them, they won't last.
They've run their colours up the mast,
they start to fade, I power past.
I see the finish, start to dip,
I think I've had the perfect trip.
Then just before the line I slip,
the reigning champion takes a grip.
He sticks his chest out on the line,
I really thought the gold was mine.
My rival showed how he could shine,
despite my effort, oh, so fine.
So I must welcome second best,
consoled that I did beat the rest.
My heart beats proudly in my chest
throbbing through my Country's vest.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem with the theme being the color SILVER. The color can be literal, figurative, or a metaphor. |
Author Notes
I could never dream of competing at the Olympics but I was a fair 100 metre runner in my teens. Finishing second at a big meet was always an ambivalent experience. Pride yet disappointment.
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