For an Unseen Finish Line


Time is a distance runner,
concentrating on his clock work stride,
pacing out duration
for an extra-peripheral world.
Epochs are left
sunken footprints in the sand,
history vanquished by the tide—
And he steady goes on
absorbed in his breathing
“Day in, night out …
Exhale dark, inhale light …”
His heart beats eternity.
Various human sorts have flailingly
tried to keep pace
with the new-to-ancient echo
But the sound drowns out mortality.
And time is a distance runner.
Long.