We were flowing,
or were we running?
running the race of life?
At some point
I fell down,
bruises bleeding out my ignorance,
ebbing away into a dark hole of realisation
Where were we running to?
What lies at the end?
I stopped and stood up,
others milling forward,
like a rock in the path of flowing river.
But I’d lost him in the crowd ploughing on,
on and on until he was lost among them
I couldn't move forward ,
I didn't see the point,
it was too much of a realisation
I couldn't ignore.
He was so far along and he didn't look back.
Or was it that he looked and couldn't see me?
Was he so far in the race and I so behind,
moving on and on or, slowing down for me to catch up