Credit: 105.1 The Blaze

keep running

so you ran the marathon
& let’s say you won the whole race,
but the prize was just another race,
a triathlon this time.

you didn’t get the accolades,
cheers shouting your name,
the gold medal to hang round your neck,
the sweet taste of victory,
sipping from a holy chalice of wine.

instead all you tasted was
your own sweat & blood —
bitter & cloying
like espresso laced with cyanide.

in the end —
all whom left on the track:
only your own self.
& all the competition:
only your own shadow.