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Wed 7 May, 2003 08:07 am
THE RACE
An autumn chill hangs on the morning
and fog blankets the dawn,
the silvery glare of the mist obscures
all but what we know is before us.
The runners take the line?-
the gun sounds and we run, all of us,
hurling our bodies through the unknown
beating our arms against the air
heaving against the cloud of mystery
filling our lungs with the air that stimulates
and stifles us.
The way is not clearly marked.
Each of us afraid to assume the lead?-
the course we may forget and
render our efforts in vain.
Of such a race is life?-
All of us rushing forward
rushing beyond opportunities lost
ignoring the souls along the way
striving to find the path
we know not where.
KB, strangely, I was reminded of Jim Thorpe when I looked at your avatar and read your poem. Yes, each of us is afraid to assume the lead.
But, my friend, the way IS clearly marked. We just tend to ignore the signs.
Incidentally, I ran with you.
Welcome, InjunKB!
The race is something we are all familiar with, yet you described it with your own voice, making it new territory to be explored.
I hope hear more from you.
This was an actual race on a foggy October morning
I set the allegory apart in the last verse. But, thank you. I will be posting more.
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