22 02 2022
The Run
Earnestly, he rubs the canvas
With a damp cloth,
reveals the white of his
old trainers.
Deliberately, one by one, unravels
the blue laces,
dreamily watches a fly
crawl among crumbs
on grey tiles,
oh, little fly,
you have no idea how lucky you are.
Out on the downs, on the coastal path,
he runs,
he runs, … slowly, …at first,
until, inside his head
an explosion, a war, of words
fly back and forth.
Keeping time he picks up pace
Quickening, the louder they get,
Faster, …Faster, …Faster, …
Then…
his breath, his breath,…gives out...
He stops… He
falls…
He falls with …
A thud
Into the mud…
He curls… Head down…
Face down… Down in
the dirt…
He sobs…
He sobs…
Down in the dirt, he sobs…
There is so much sadness in this world.
ReplyDeleteYes, Mimi, you're right there. x
DeleteYour poem captures that inner turmoil we rarely see or understand.
ReplyDeleteThank you Beth. That's what I was going for. x
DeleteAn intuitive glimpse into the perils of pursuing one's self. Well done!
ReplyDelete