Listen to poem:
The Race For Hollow Gold
Written: June 17, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh
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I.
We rise to a pulse that breaks the silence.
a line of gold across the morning.
beckoning us forth before we are ready,
Before we hear the race has truly started—
a quiet request rising from inside.
II.
Morning fades to a pale, uncertain light,
half-selves drifting as dust in the air,
still clinging to the scent of who we were
before the world grew heavy with choices—
before gold glimmered in the distance.
III.
We move as an elfin, uneasy group,
carrying dreams stamped bright but brittle,
Hearts beating flinty against the dark ahead.
A ray of gold shining amid the gloom.
a gleam we believe is fate.
IV.
Vintage bruises sigh in the backyard.
echoing with every step we claim.
We ignore the noise, but it pursues,
shadows that mirror our breath —
reminding us of what we had tried to leave.
V.
The path narrows where memory fades,
where doubts slip through, akin to wind in a seam.
Some carry anger as a hidden ember,
some cradle hope as fragile as a leaf—
all us drawn by the same distant glimmer.
VI.
Night rises with its ghostly forms,
the scent of earth and storm-swept branches.
Our veins burn red with restless longing,
hedonist and skeptic arguing in the ribs—
Yet still the gold glows ahead.
VII.
A wanderer utters truths he can’t verify,
But belief does not alter the nature of the race.
Gold is not an offering waiting at the seal;
It is a mirror in transforming light,
Reflecting what we prefer not to stare at.
VIII.
Pages of our past ignite as we stroll forward—
ink-built towers of selves we nearly became.
Empathy thins, love sharpens, then softens,
And slowly our shadows loosen their grip
as daylight widens around us.
IX.
At last, we reach the hollow gold,
quiet, patient, shimmering without demand.
Not a reward, but a sanctuary for the lost.
a nest for the selves we shed on the way—
And in its luminescence, we arrive at last.
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