the bystander
the bystander.
not a stranger, not a friend.
not on fire, neither the extinguished end.
his dreams and hopes carried him far, basked in beautiful passion.
reality proves his weak flesh kills the fusion.
he joined the marathon early, as did many.
he too once sprinted. strides wide at great speed.
the shade invited a rest, the birds begged an audience away from the race.
irresistable were they, so he gradually faded away from the prize.
he did want to come back with bursts of effort
but not strong enough to last.
the other runners run strong and free, praise overflows from their lips.
intimacy with their passion and love for the marathon brought more blessing than pain.
the bystander laments, regrets, envies
when will the day come where he can be like them?
he's eager but not desperate
he's had chances, merciful comebacks to the race.
but will anyone want someone back for more than a second chance?
he's been told he's been loved at times, yet he just can't help but doubt.
it must be for the others. i'm hated. once a mistake, always a scar right?
does anyone remember? will anyone accept?
in a sea of talent will a sacrifice be made for a confused drop?
does doubt seal off the entrance to the race?
his legs start to fail. he wants to escape.
too many voices, too few directions.
fear seizes his throat, he can barely beathe.
he's too scared to call for help.
the bystander.
he watches and resolves
still his path unrevolved
heart of a mule, skin sheet thin.
the road ahead prepares its challenges
he crumples within, defeated
before it can even begin
brenda
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