The skies are calling, and I move with the wind; harnessing its power, I sail across the lands, wanting to touch the ever-elusive horizon.
The sun shines bright yet fails to dampen the spirit that dwells within, for it is in the act that I find solace, for it is in the solace that I find the real me.
I have no qualms; I repent not. I am a wingless bird that soars unbridled. I’ve, as people say, thrown caution to the winds.
These eyes yearn for nothing more. These tears speak of sorrow no more; I run as if there is no tomorrow. I run for that is all I know.
To those who paint a picture of me, I say fie not, for my soul is clean, awash with the sweat of a million steps, each (step) telling a tale of its own.
If there was a way of steeling the will, then my friend, thou shall find sway, in the ways of a runner, blithe, hearteningly gay.
Mind you, he (the runner) holds no empty promises, so surefooted is his array; he grinds through the hail and shines in the rain. His nonchalance tells it all as he smiles through the pain.
There is none like him, and he is like none. When he runs for his life, unlike many, the fears are swept away. True to his mettle, the runner sets the stage for a life that matters in the turbulence of night and day.
There is sheer poetry in his sway and joy in his stride; he moves with surety knowing what falls his way. Know him, and you shall gain, for resilience is his trademark, and grace bejewels his adage. Love him, for he yearns not, your descent nor your space.
There will be times when you shall be asked of the past and what the future beholds. Tell them to hold their guns for theirs, not to say; what will be and eternity is at your footsteps. Tell them to tread, for once, not with care, and the beauty shall unfold.
Run, my friend, run, lie to yourself no more.