I have to divorce myself
From the facts of my activities
When they give to me
Their attention,
And lavish me with the rewards
Of their length.
Going forward is the only option;
Counting the stroke,
Whilst pretending not to notice,
Is adopted,
And never wishing to finish
Is the holy goal;
Only the goal is to end it;
To befriend the blessed relief
That completion brings,
And hopefully not
Feel the sting of muscle snap
And lung hunger:
Air being precious
When huge intakes make
The body bend better,
And the mind mend whatever
Allusions to torture chambers
It has laboured with
Whilst shaking fists at
The flabbiness of age
And its inevitable troop
Into youth’s future
That I, and all who brave its hail,
Strive to keep lean.
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