phylock

A Long Life Is Along the Finish

There's not a doubt in anyone's mind
Who runs first through that richly checkered line
While some fall far; Farther behind
crouching in their shadows
because they need a place to hide

and

While a clock spins off in reminiscing frenzy-
a weeping widow cries
even a father of three. . . fights to survive.
And every blink of the eye
is another tick of the clock:
so hang on to the small hand
and enjoy the lively but slow ride.



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.