Blank Steps

Day. Night. The very two constants of a man’s life. They we met and must leave behind. They race each other in a constant relay Silently telling how much time we have left. It all begins on a bold tarmac line. The point where we all hear the gun let go. The origin of the rest eager steps. Eyes fixed, fingers gripped. So much pep planted on a helpless line. With stubborn hunger we set forth. Making sure we meet up with the many legs. Meting covered distance with foreign units. Makings turns we never planned for. The goal post can really get glurry. When placed with assorted team-players It’s hard to recall what we really want When choked with steps not our choice. Day. Night. The very two constants of a man’s life. The fingers that counts the steps we have left. Make sure the next step truly counts. Keep running.