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.
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