The Prize Poem by Theresa Ann Moore
The Prize
Reaching for a goal
Making complete
Making whole
Attaining what we seek…
Straight ahead
Around the curve
Turning into what we dread
Drained…with no reserve
Irony becomes evident
Ideals reverse instantly
Revealed by a scent
Disbelief becomes reality
6/6/09
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: disbelief,irony
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8/29/2026 4:02:31 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
