Thursday, September 25, 2008


The darkness of the night draws close about
And midnight voices whisper in my ear--
A rushing rumble swells into a shout--
The race is almost won, the mark is near.
The running is the winning of the race
And every lane unequal from the start--
I will not stumble, will not slow my pace
Or let the course defeat my faltering heart.
Fettered by commitment, I race free--
Million-crowded, yet I race alone--
Flicked by minutes, I race timelessly--
The day eclipses just beyond my zone.
Before my sun is swallowed by the night
I must - do - what - is - right .

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