When the Gavel Did Not Fall For Me

I rose with purpose in my stride, A banner bold across my chest. With every word, I spoke with pride, And gave the race my very best. I shaped my dreams in visioned flame, Each meeting held, each hand I shook. A chapter built around my name— And every step, the world I took. The ballots passed from hand to hand, Like whispers moving through a crowd. I waited, heart in reprimand, While silence wrapped me in a shroud. Then came the still, the final toll— The gavel’s echo not for me. A hollow settled in my soul, Where once had burned tenacity. I smiled, as honor would require, Yet felt the frost behind my grin. For all my zeal and inner fire, Could not ensure a destined win. But in that hour, stripped and bare, I touched a truth I’d never known— That losing, too, can shape a prayer, And leave no heart to fight alone. They saw the loss; I felt the cost— The late-night hopes, the crafted speech. Yet dignity is never lost When grace is still within your reach. I stood, though not with laurel crowned, My voice intact, my soul upright. For though my dream was battle-bound, My worth was not in vote or might. The gavel passed, but not my will; Another’s name rose through the air. Yet something in me stood up still— The man who learned, the one who cared. So let the record show, I tried— With fervent hands and earnest plea. And though the gavel passed me by, It did not take the best of me. Author: Floyd Neal Date: May 14, 2025 Inspiration: Analyzing defeat and disappointment