Hungering for more
quicker, sooner, faster.
My mind full of electric currents
fliting, jumping
in infinite patterns.
Well worn ones
firing again and again;
an intense lighting storm.
Now machines think
at the speed of light
without a body attached.
I attempt to run
at breakneck speed
before winter’s freeze,
as if I could, should
compete,
though it is
impossible to win.
I must run a
slow marathon,
not attempt to sprint
over and over and over
till I collapse.
Within the body
is heart speed,
an impossible gear
for my competition.
To win requires
the body,
the heart,
the soul
in balance
and alive.
Claiming the gift
of space,
instead of an
impossible race.
