Whooshing wind, I can hear it.
Butterflies from the inside, I can feel them.
The brink of death, I can taste it.
Pushing faster, Will it be enough?
Butterflies from the inside, I can feel them.
People are shouting, I can’t hear them.
Pushing faster, Will it be enough?
Racing time hurts your soul.
People are shouting, I can’t hear them.
A ribbon with a one is pushing me harder
Racing time hurts your soul.
My mind won’t turn on to think. I only think one word.
A ribbon with a one is pushing me harder.
People watching, my school depending.
My mind won’t turn on to think. I only think one word.
The brink of death, I can taste it.
Posted in response to the challenge Spring: Writing Contest.
Comments
This poem has such natural movement, which works so well when you're writing about movement. I felt like I could feel the burn and racing heart along with you, almost taste that iron-y taste in my mouth ("The brink of death, I can taste it"), and I was cheering you on! Even if you don't wind up winning for your school during competitions like this, I hope you're proud of yourself -- you should be.
Thank you! 😊
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