The Race

This race
Is almost done.

I’m last.


Bloody, battered, bruised bones,
One lurching step at a time,
Carry me closer.

I want to quit.

I want to sit in the mud,
And weep over the long miles past,
The road behind,
When I ran swiftly and easily. 

I’m last.

Why shouldn’t I quit?

Why not sit in the mud?

Why not?


“Who do you race? ”

A whisper.

” Do you race the others on the road?
Or yourself? ”


I am weary.
I am worn.
I am….
A fool.

I race…

Get up, fool!


Turn your feet to wings,
And fly.

Sing your song aloud,
With every panting breath.

Run ahead,
Run ahead,
Run ahead…

Race to the finish.


The race
Is nearly done.

I’m winning.


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