The Race of the Goldfish
In a bowl, round as time, they wait—
Gold flickers poised at the water’s gate.
No crowd, clapping no need for cheer,
Just glassy silence, crystal-clear.
They dart with pomp, they twist with pride,
Each fin a flag, each turn a stride.
A race of loops, of lazy swerves,
A game of chance, not sharpened nerves.
No prize awaits the one ahead,
No crown, no laurel for the led.
Yet still they chase, and still they gleam,
Like coins dropped deep into a dream.
Around, around, the world is small—
But to them, it is the all.
And isn’t that the race we run?
No end, no judge, just laps for fun.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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