Chasing the Wind
The muscles coil like tightened springs,
A flash of fur, the silence sings.
The gate flies wide, the chase is on,
A silver streak, and then—it’s gone.
The track is fire beneath their feet,
A blur of motion, fierce and fleet.
Eyes locked tight on phantom prize,
A secret hope, a desperate rise.
They run for more than win or loss,
For speed itself, for fate they toss.
A race, a dream, a life unbound—
The spirit of the greyhound.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
I love the strength this poem exudes. It has movement and muscle. Excellent work, Marie!!!