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: