Poem

In a blind sprint, I run
Gaining slowly, haltingly
My steps fluctuating
I fall behind, then rush ahead
Outrunning the gazelle but lagging
Behind the sloth.

Halfway completed, I
Roll the boulder up the mountain’s face.
Muscles straining, I bypass a pebble.
It doesn’t progress.
Yet it doesn’t fail.
It chides me for my weakness,
My incompetence.

Galloping through a desert,
The offensive heat feels cold,
The water-flask venomously empty.
My skin is lathered with sweat
Yet my pony is dry.

The glint of steel vibrates off
Of my general’s badge.
Thousands of soldiers march to meet the enemy,
Yet they carry no rifles.
An old crone urges me to advance,
But my army marches motionless,
Staggers under her oppressive weight,
Crushed by someone else’s dreams.