For an Unseen Finish Line

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    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.