Wednesday 22 May 2013

The Race

Yes, I've read this morning's paper,
but no, it doesn't bring me comfort;
the whole world wants me moving
to a beat I can't keep up with.

Now the steps I follow daily,
well they move so very swiftly.
The quickening of paces
leaves me breathless, weak and dumb.

So I channel hop each evening,
and I let my eyes go roaming,
over pages, my fingers run
and my mind paces in circles;

But my body seldom reaches
all the targets that I set it;
The race has long been forfeit,
and and I'm resigned to defeat.

Now the bodies rushing past me
look so stern in their conviction;
they're heading onward, further
better places there await.

So I'll let my vessels thicken,
let the blood trickle in slower,
and languish here, for now, among
the sheets I can't fall out of.

I've not read tomorrow's paper,
though I doubt it'd bring much comfort,
I can hear the bugle calling 
me to step into the streets.

But for now I have my comforts,
my angels and my demons;
My tired eyes are closing 
and  the sunlight is quite warm.

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