Skiing For The Gold

A Poem By Matthew // 4/29/2007

Ice. Snow. Frost. Cold.
Wind biting at his gloved hands
Speed. Fast. Sharp corner
Tearing down the mountain
85 miles-per-hour
White. Green. Trees, snow,
Rocks, mixing in a blur
The gold, Olympic gold

Sliding. Skiing. Hovering,
Above the ground
Red flag, blue flag
Back and forth
Never ceasing speed
Never decreasing speed
Left, hard right
The gold, Olympic gold

Flashing down
The speed of light
In the air
Smash hard on ice
Flying. Gliding.
The crowds below
Visions flash.
Coach. Mom. Dad.
The gold, Olympic gold

Weeks of training
Working. Straining.
Led to this
The last stretch
Muscles screaming
Breath is steaming
Cross the red line
The gold, Olympic gold

Crowds are cheering
The Press
Cameras flashing
Falls to his knees
Looking around
Numbers come up
Above everyone else
The gold, Olympic gold
Is his

Down hill skiing
Olympic Gold
Is his at last
Mom. Dad. Coach.
Proud Son.
Olympic Gold.

(What’s crazy about this poem is the fact that I've never skied in my entire life. I was just watching the Winter Olympics skiing competition and I felt like writing a poem. This is what came out. =) )



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