The Dream

Tap tap tap, I'm floating Round the turn, daylight to my front As well as my dream. Just twelve inches separates me From defeat, and it is breathing down My neck. My eyes are wide and bulging, But I know I must stay relaxed. Twelve Inches have turned to six, I want to Ignore it but my finger is feeling cold. Six inches to three, three to one, Lactic acid shows no bias, plays no Favourites. We cross the line As if two-in-one, my eyes desperately Search the glamourously Lit board that will reveal my fate. The results are final and unchanging, And I wouldn't want them any other way.