I hear its claws
Tearing through the leaves
At my feet as I run,
My lungs roaring
Into the silent primal mist
At the absurd hour of dark morning.
It rips through the branches overhead
Like a scorned gale
Causing the boughs
To moan a requiem to the fallen
Upon whose bones we train.
The beast is starved for blood.
It nips my heels
With toxic fangs
That drip with fear, ennui, gluttony.
I must defeat the monster today,
So I can kill it tomorrow again
When it chases me from my bed
And back out of the door.
***
(Minneapolis, MN -- July, 2019)
During a visit back to the US with my wife, one of my only sources for inspiration was my marathon training. I'd wake up and think about poetry as I ran before work. This poem examines the ways people run or lift weights to fill a void in their lives that can often be filled by vice (drugs, alcohol, eating disorders, destructive thoughts, etc.) It's just a little too short and a little too outdated stylistically.
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