A Runner's Song

Aspirations

A Runner's Sonnet

How to PR
Begin as if beginning was the end of time when muscles rest and skin is dry. There is no time to hesitate; extend your will beyond the horizontal sky. Now pull each stride beneath you as the road concedes to your omnipotence of grace. Flow forward like a river and erode the confidence of time with rushing pace. Hold on to spirit rising from within your heart; hold on to spirit like a song that calls you like a siren to begin each stride like the beginning; move along the course as if the world was yours to run and race the end as if you’d just begun.

Some Thoughts on Love and Faith
What aches to be released is filled with doubt, constrained by love and faith, contained by time which in its turn concedes a life without such weights would be a life beyond sublime. Take love, like some Gibraltared coast of hope, unyielding in its ambiguity. Take faith, like some eternal length of rope tied off to some obscene eternity. Now lift your love as high as you have strength and toss it in the ocean’s shallow tide; now follow faith along its tethered length until you find the place where angels hide. In time both love and faith will be released, but doubt will be eternally increased.

Closure–A Vision at Dawn
If this, the road at dawn, becomes my choice to sanctify my heart with one last glance into the twilit memories: your voice, that chair, a song, some final circumstance. If this, the dusty red that fades to gray, becomes the time I travel through my doubt as faith becomes the night, I choose the day to rest within uncertainty, without the fear of loss.  This road is marked as well as memories remembered from the past when you and I communed but did not tell ourselves that night and darkness wouldn’t last If this is life, the spirit of the dawn releases me and I will travel on.

Inspiration
Each wisp of life that rises with the day, ethereal and metaphoric smoke that haunts the morning air, the pall of gray- not-black, that ghostly spirit we invoke with every pulse and every breath we take, each day of days we clarify at dawn with dreams we chase in sleep and then forsake to wisps of smokey life, still linger on. That wisp of insight smoldering in ash which sacrifices life, a brief decay, exhales a breath of beauty, seeks to pass its essence through the dawn into the day while day inhales the beauty of the night and wisps of beauty dissipate in light.

Clippings in Cracks
Like clumps of grass that molder in the week between the end of summer and the fall, I wait for slow decay.  The words I speak denote the patient mold.  The seasons crawl, they stop and start, like blades of drifting grass mowed down by summer’s swift poetic steel. They linger in the cracks that came to pass through winters I no longer wish to feel. Eternal in-between, eternal time becomes the demarcation of my voice, progressing or regressing, rhyme to rhyme, like clippings of the leaves of grass of choice. Such cracks bear neither peace nor subtle fear, but hide my words until they disappear.