Till My Dying Breath

I hate to be,

The bearer of bad news…

But how can you breathe?

When stuck in centrifuge?

I feel like I am running,

Running to survive…

Running to reach an end,

Running for my life…

Running, running,

And getting no-where.

Working and running,

And ending up sore.

But I see them from a distance,

Watching…

Waiting for me to fall.

I see the thousand eyes upon me,

Beckoning,

Them All…

I lose my breath,

And start to heave.

Heavy hearts,

Can’t weave.

This tender chest,

Which sieves,

With pain,

and exhaustion,

beyond such fame,

lest we surrender,

to the weakness.

Each day,

Picks herself up.

To start off running,

Once again…

And all the while,

I can feel it.

Burning me up inside.

And so I reach out,

For my relief.

To ease the deafening,

Sound.

Pray not,

That this might take away,

For if only one would sway,

The entire race be at an end.

And love be hers,

Again.

~ 09-25-17