Knotted muscles kept pace

A runner led the race

Wind and sweat cooled his chest

He approached the crest.

A downward slope, then hill

Cold fatigue fought his will

“Where is the finish line?”

Surely in a short time.

He concentrated ahead

Then thoughts of pain were dead

He strode for the next crest

Do your best. Do your best.

A figure walked the trail

Her features misty pale

The runner stopped and coughed

She spoke with voice too soft.

Trembling muscles relaxed

The will no longer taxed

He felt an intimacy

He could touch, he could see.

He gave a sweaty kiss

To the shy, wordless Miss

The slope splashed shades of green

All were contrasting scenes.

The lone runner looked back

He saw the racing pack

He must not lose the pace

Too much given the race.

He rips loose the embrace

Lonely pain twists his face

“No line” he shouts outlaid

“No banners or a crowd”.

He must place number one

At last glimpse of the sun

A race till end of time

A race of soul and mind.