Distance of Time

 

Where once the trail and the distance

were of little concern;

whether the sultry summer burned

away at the youth of my day

the long runs never stopped

even when winter’s frigid hands dropped

all life into a silent whitened meadow

my breath never faltered; never wavered.

 

I could out run even time –

This virile elixir was my sublime.

 

Arriving now to an unfamiliar sense

What is to be learned?

That time ultimately won at the turn?

Where now I can barely find my way

to the next valley; to the next mountain top.

The meadow’s place is a vague twilight hop

of old stories with famed ghosts and false shadows;

of conquests and fails that now seem - a bitter flavor.

 

And, when once I could even out run time!

That was never true - however, it does remain my sublime.