I run my race.
I no longer know why.
Is this race a test of will?
If so, what is the prize?
I wish for a reward from the depths of my heart.
Yet is that bounty empty?
The goal that is so far away;
Does it truly exist?
Is this only a dream?
This dream of mine is a beautiful one.
I chase this fantasy,
Even against my will.
My heart pursues.
My mind withdraws.
The pain caused by such a tiny hope.
Reality presents to me
Such beautiful options.
Logic tells me to see
The opportunities given.
My heart is quieted, yet never stopped.
Words, faces, and music,
They serve for naught.
Only temporary alleviation.
I can't even drown it out.
My heart simply won't listen to my head.
It rebels against reality.
It refuses to accept the present.
It looks toward the future.
It sees what my mind doesn't.
Its wounds only grow more painful, day by day.
Yet even with such pain,
My heart clings so desperately,
To this tiny hope
Of my most hated dream occurring.
Is this race of mine still worth running?
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The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
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