THE HEAT.

The greatest race,

The people chase,

The one no other wins

Is with yourself,

As nobody else comes

Even close to opposing you:

Your shadow bent over

Your shape,

As if a cape blown in the wind,

And legs outstretched against themselves

For an imaginary line

Where only one can find a prize;

Your ribs horrifically ripping

All the meat between them

As they reach for ever rising heights;

You arms in blurred

And urgent focus as they close upon

The wonders out in front,

Whilst never quite able enough

To get you there,

Or clutch the air beyond,

And so claim for their own

The title and trophy

Of life’s coarse trial,

But you keep score,

And from that sheet repeat the test

Forever hoping triumph lies ahead,

When all the time you realise

That only when you’re done

Will the end come.