He Ran

He ran.

Until he saw no road, he ran.

Until there were no people to be seen.

Until there were no people he could see.

 

He ran.

Until his lungs cried out, he ran.

Until his breath was heavy and his legs started burning.

Until his head felt light and his heart stopped burning.

 

He ran.

Until it pleased him, he ran.

Until his sole wore out.

Until his soul wore out.

 

He ran.

Until he saw the sunset, he ran.

Until he could see the sun touch the ground.

Until he could feel himself off the ground.

 

He ran.

Until he fell apart, he ran.

Until the cold breeze could freeze him.

Until the cold of his people couldn’t reach him.

 

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The Tightrope Walker

Parched was his throat,

and his stomach funnily growled,

the sound of which was drowned,

in the pandemonium of the crowd.

 

His feet started to tremble,

the sun too strong on his slender body.

He couldn’t do this anymore,

walking on this thin rope high up in the air.

 

He pleaded with his eyes,

but a glare from his master silenced him, perhaps forever.

 

One more step and he felt light, his body floating through the air,

one last thud, and he smiled, his sorrows over for a lifetime.