The Marathon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a poem.

Submitted: March 08, 2011

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Submitted: March 08, 2011

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The Marathon

There is no number and no starting gun,
We're without a track, but all of us run.
Our way is ours alone, without a course,
The paths of pioneers share not a source.

Without a mark, with no sort of a sign,
I cannot find or see the finish line.
To trails blindly blazed, all do commit,
Misguided are most, but few admit.

Wary the way, I do slow down,
Where within this desert I may yet drown.
Bound to the way, I must hasten my pace,
I dare not linger, lest I become this place.

I journey onward with naught but a clue,
As to what is right--the way that is true.
In the deluge of doubt, hope withers and thins,
In this marathon no one wins.

Few long for the line, most are not fond,
For no one is certain what lay beyond.
None of that matters, it's time to move on,
It is time to finish this marathon.

© 2011, J. Devin Hintze


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