all · life

He runs

He runs.

In the rain, in the shade, in the sun.

He runs through the night.

He runs. On gravel, along cemented streets, through dirt, through pain.

He runs like lightning, like shame, like animals caught in a cage.

He runs with fear, with rage, with anger, without aim.

He runs until the breath is gone, he runs until his muscles ache.

He runs with hollow chest, he runs but is pointless.

He runs and takes no turns, but he runs until his heart burns.

He runs for a secret other, he runs yet there is no other.

He runs with fire in his eyes, he runs, might fail, but he tries.

He runs in secret devotion, so that which be worthy should know the price of this devotion.

He runs, yet all else in life falls to pieces, he runs and nothing he sees makes sense.

He runs for a future untied to his past, he runs because at speed nothing can last.

He runs, likely to make a grave. He runs as a fool, but you think he is brave.

He runs in the rain, in the shade, in the sun.

He runs through the night.

He runs.

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