The Race

The Race

My race began in nineteen sixty.

I’m aged and weather-worn, still afloat

with sails torn and failing rudder,

but in the race with my rebel boat.

Yet time has claimed so many things

and so many friends I’d come to know,

all of us racing to catch the sun

before the falling of winter snow.

Ocean currents forever blowing,

much faster now in these gathered years.

I’m sitting still as the tides roll on

where I ponder victories and my fears.

I ponder on all the people met,

many challenges within the race,

to live forever, we did believe

with excitement and blistering pace.

But storms arose, our connections lost,

the racing season came to an end,

my attention fixed on building boats,

while losing touch with all of my friends.

I questioned how my world diminished

as my communion began to fade.

I dropped my sail to watch the sun,

discovered my path was poorly made.

I changed my habits, rebuilt my boat,

studied all the maps that passed me by,

to then discover the secret isle

that answered all my questions why.

and as I sit here watching the sun,

with the new connections I have found,

I find we’re of the older mind,

but morally in tune and conscious bound.

Although time changes the path’s we’re on,

with the barbs and spears that left their trace,

the lessons learned and the friendships made,

were all a blessing in proper place.

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