This Race

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's about a race. Or is it?

Submitted: November 29, 2007

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Submitted: November 29, 2007



The race must go on,
Flashing past in a sundance of hurry,
With heads in the clouds and along
The green turf unmoving. Tumultuous flurry,

It catches him. Entices him into the stampede,
Where his sight will be blurred, nothing else outside,
Just the race, and the start, and the finished deed.
He said he would join in just for the ride,

But it's more. Starting with only one shoe can he
Ever compete in the hustle that is?
Or the bustle that was? Did he ever run free
Of these maladies and tragedies that befall his

Dreams. Trying so hard to win and yet what is it for?
He questions, the fabric of all, but keeps
Running.Just in case. Just that bit more.
Why not try taking pidgeon steps before quantum leaps?

Oh fallacies and falsities accompany his stride,
Like the champagne after the ribbon.
No runners are left, just him and his pride,
And his burdens, to which he has given

So much and forgets just why.
If only the time spent philandering onwards and
Upwards could have been used to cry.
Does it matter whether it's grass or sand,

He asks, as this race is a desert to him.
No fruit does it bear,
No punishment for sin,
And all that we share

Is a common aim of aimlessness.

© Copyright 2018 Ben Jacobs. All rights reserved.