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The Fugitive
Oft I ponder the impulse to endure,
As I stare into the eyes of a turtle.
Start from egg bones that they are,
A part of their shelled home structure.
Them, all in a crutch, breakout as a bale,
Outlast their plight, cross a beach, they hightail,
Sights life from above that swoops down in a dive,
For they too, like them, must also survive.
The impacts continues, of their small compact life,
As they waddle for now, they will tip toe when older,
But when they are at sea, they glide with their flippers,
Yet even to that end, perpetuation of strife.
Semblance my thoughts, of rivals beyond a framed entity
The expanse in an ocean of life, and of its brief, eternity.
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