The Race From Hell

September 22, 2009
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I feel the sun’s kisses on my shins and face,
As my gym class positions for a weekly run,
I and my long shadow meet up for the race,
Everyone is upset, but it hasn’t even begun,

The teacher blows the whistle for us to start,
Every student in the front moves slow,
That constant drum beat I hear—my heart,
Soon, I realize, I will no longer be able to go,

Stop, my body urges me to quit now,
I stare at my shadow—it’s in the lead,
Some more steps and I gulp water down,
From the flaming grasp of hell—I’m freed.





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