Foot Race

The whistle blows and
Reality awakens me to the rush
that surrounds my stillness.
Heart yellowed with illness at my own self.
I am unable to identify with those
that stand with me.


The lonely pace of rest.


Been real down lately cuz my legs can't seem to move.
And there goes my finish line clearly ahead.
Spectators cheering me
and charging with full weight.
Still I just
can't
move.


I run real fast in my dreams.
Gliding swiftly past
old songs, past loves, and unfinished poetry.
Kicking up all kinds of dust onto the old me.
Sprinting with life, liberty, and harmony
Where I'm armed with Thee,
Holiest of Spirits
And fear gets trampled into paved streets.
Yet when I awake,
still I remain
Unmoved.