Clarity in Muddied Waters

A Messianic Journey Through Pen and Peace. Writing from the Stillness Within.

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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam’d upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From Maytime and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

Running

Running.

Pumping back and forth.

My weary body groans with exhaustion.

I can’t feel anything anymore.

I’m all numb.

I don’t know where I’m going.

Or where I was.

I don’t know anything, except that I have to run.

I have to run.

Running.

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