The Finish Line

As I move closer and closer

to the top the same question again pops.

Will i make it to the top?

As I fall again and again with

no reaching hands to help.

I scream silent with no breath left.


At the bottom is very deep.

Theres no one to hear me weep.

Won't someone sweep me off my feet?

Take me  to a place with no deafeat.


Yet  I've lost again and again.

Really theres no end. 

Here is no utopia I dream but only of fear.

Fear that i'll never make it to the top. 

will I go or will I stop? Will I hold on or will I drop?


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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