Wednesday, February 28, 2007

The Long Race

Straining hard,
Every breath torture on failing lungs,
Sweat beading on furrowed brow,
Heart, a pounding sledgehammer for the ears,
Eyes fighting darkening tunnels,
Only five minutes more,
Then four, three…
Twelve breaths per minute,
Thirty six masochistic moments,
Chest filled with napalm,
Arms and legs spasm,
Stomach knotting,
Face bloodless and feral with tenacity
Two minutes, one…
He could coast now,
But determination grips hard,
Dragging air in, wheezing it out again,
His final stubborn moment.

There, it’s time; he’s reached his goal,
One hundred years of life,
He stops the struggle,
Finishes his race,
Light fading from intense eyes,
Final beat beaten,
Last breath and sighed words,
“Happy birthday.”


miss magic said...

wow! loved the ending! :D

etain_lavena said...

gosh die on your bday, or is it just hard blowing the candles out(hundred, hectic)?
Good as usual in:)

Inconsequential said...

Thankyou MM, another one bites the dust...

Etain, 100 little candles or a big cake... either way, i'd cheat and use something to blow them out and not my cigarette enfeebled lungs...
Though I was planning on going a tad sooner than 100...don't wanna get old...oh, too late.

etain_lavena said...

I hear you In, I also do not wanna make it past 75, but the genes are against's dad=95
Mom's mom=82......hectic.....use a leaf blower....:)

Pod said...

ha ha....yes a leaf blower, aimed at the most cheerful person in the party. inc, thanks for my recent offering! sorry i haven't popped in for a bit!