Poetry

True sounding lie

running man

 

Running breathlessly,

The finish line evasive as ever.

Alone in the hunt –

Inspired creation abandoned,

Bidden goodbye a decade ago.

Chased by dreary shadows

Of a fluid ideal,

Encased by ghosts of

an undefinable exemplar

that haunt me in my slumber :

Madness is my pursuit

that survives through

mythical tales –

tales of Paragon, of perfection.

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