The Rhythm of the Run

July 20, 2008
By
Scorching. Rhythm.
To run for a hundred miles and relish the burning it brings.
Sweltering. Fleeing. Rhythm.
Thousands of miles of sand and no one to hear me sob.
Scorching. Satisfying. Rhythm.
To run forever until the earth ends and the sky descends.
Sweltering. Escape. Rhythm

They cannot follow here- the


demons of the shadows.
No room to think or fear,

beside the exaltation


of my rhythm.
Scorching. Sweltering. Rhythm

Fleeing? Running forth into the sunset?
Far be it from my meager control to deny that urge.





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