Finish.
What are you fleeing?
Running as if the Devil was right behind.
Kicking up little spurts of gravel,
In the recess of your mind.
Starburst, fireworks
Your breath comes heavy and hot.
Always looking for that finish tape
But never able to stop.
Going in circles
I can't seem to keep a straight line.
Running through the dark
Chasing the setting sun.
Twisting through the violent maze
God, when can I be done?
Colors burst, fireworks
Dead ends again and again.
The tar bubbles in the heat as I flee
My feet are black with stain.
Throw me down on the headshrink's couch
Drug me out with gin.
I'll still keep running, pounding on.
Flying forward, but I'll never win.
Blood burst, fireworks
Voices tell me to carry on
Gasping out my fleeting breath,
God, let me see the dawn.
Yes, to God I cry out my soul--
How dare He answer me not.
If He truly cared, loved at all,
He'd grant me peace to stop.
Rain burst, fireworks
Washes away the blood from my eyes
All this time, running the wrong way--
"It is finished," the dying man sighs
I take a step, and then I stop
Hope pouring into my veins.
Oh, this is peace, this is rest--
Letting go in my last death strains.
Lifeburst, fireworks
In death there's life I've found.
Not a grave but true paradise,
Now unchains me from the ground.
I began to walk, and then I run
Not from a fear but joy.
I've learned now its not a race
Not to a point, but to a grace
Not through a line, but through a grave
Now all a celebration of joy.
Starburst. Firework.
Breathe in. Love. Breathe out.
Sunrise, sunset--I see it all.
Fear? Its what I live without.
[all the times you ran away, love pursued you even more]
"Not through a line, but through a grave..." So good, Clayton. I don't know if you intended a reference to the Boston Marathon tragedy, but it was in my mind as I read.
ReplyDeleteJust a question, though...does the study of physics produce poetry? What's the connection?