You
early riser, your drive and
ambition make me still. You charge towards
the horizon of
your little tomorrow, brandishing your hopes with all your heart's mind's eye and stuff.
I could never be like you.
My eyes are on my feet as I stumble through
one day at a time, happy to be here now. You always look at the distance of
tomorrow like it's
the only thing that gets you through today. I follow you, but only because the trail you've cut is clear. I can see it with my
head bent down.
You know what you want from life, and that frightens me, I'll admit.
I don't even know what I want for dinner, and
you've made plans for both of us that involve many trips and
names. I just want to find
a quiet spot to grow old and fade and wear out. I don't mind the
rust that forms on my slow joints when I
stroll. When I truly hesitate and take
a different path, you always rush back to beg me back to yours, and I always come. I haven't found a better one, and don't expect to, but we're not walking this path
together. When I try to
keep pace, you always take sharp turns to
throw me off, so you can come back to get me again. I might as well just take it at my own pace.
When I try to
run with you in the
tall weeds and thorns I
stress and hurt myself. But when I get too
far behind and you lose me against the
background noise, I fall apart and have to put my working legs together again to find you. Why can't we just
walk the path together? It's a beautiful road, this
little life I've passed. I feel like you've missed a lot of it. Up and down over these silly hills we've come, and even though you run, we keep ending up in the same spots at all the important times.
Why do you run?