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Poem

Fair legs aspire with striking delight.
Spellbound and geared up to run to die.
Firm sturdy steps leap to climb the treadmill.
Eyes fixed and two hands pull the safety pin.

Five minutes in, the sweaty minds unwind;
Each second tick brings new heaves of relief.
“Not so bad after all”, the mind secretes.
“To the end of time would be a bright ride”

Nine minutes in and the legs feel edgy;
Strands of strain sighted and pace declining,
The brain and eyeballs in bitter conflict.
“Are the signs real or am I mistaken”

Napkins are used to clean the sweaty eyes -
Lips clear enough to be a better eye.
Angry lines on the skin now plain to see.
But legs still run to meet up the set speed.

Fears are met and each new step feels like six.
Regrets fills the air that makes the heart sick.
The mind grows certain it’s time to call quit
But legs still run to meet up the set speed.

Grim eyes peep at the tick as it hits twenty;
Strong waves of sadness swamp the weary eyes.
“A bright ride was the goal”, quips the light mind.
Patience and pride now in bitter conflict.

“The other hand has grown cold with eyes closed”
“But I can’t quit this race with a loud oath”
“What of the fruits of the first few minutes?”
The cross of choice comes up after nineteen.

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