The Human Race

For some folks, it’s a marathon Of lonesome country miles That stretch along a winding road At every runner’s pace. For others, it’s a full-on sprint Of pounding, driven strides That hammer toward the finish line To claim the winner’s place. Could be a relay in exclusive lanes, Or a wide field open run. Could be a rally’s check point drama, Or a thrilling steeple chase. But then you have those other folks For whom it’s a ball and chain, A shackle that imprisons minds And robs their souls of grace. They see the world in black and white, But it’s not the checkered flag; It’s a loser’s way of claiming They define the human race.