Running, Running (Written October 15, 2013)

Running, Running

 

But still he is running, running

Against the icy wind. He runs

From the house into the starry night.

 

He runs from the voices raised

In anger. He runs from the fight

That never seems to end. He runs

 

Through the woods that he knows

Like the palm of his hand, as sons

Know the hearts of their fathers.

 

He runs through the fields and meadows,

He runs to the dark and dreary waters,

He runs from those he must leave behind.

 

He runs and runs until he can run

No further, like a whirlwind

When its time has come.

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