The thought of getting started takes longer
than making certain familiar land is charted
by the running and breathing that is ambivalently regarded.
Immanent, self-imposed suffering is medicine closely guarded.
The choice to move or remain static is a power of will solely vested.
Every strike on earth like a thrash to bone, tendons tested. No end
in sight and no promise of safety is granted
by the eclipsing shadows of Doubt — confidence supplanted.
A battle between the temples.
One leg thrown before the other in furious trembles –
an act of composed defiance and commitment,
with every breath a glimpse of fulfillment.
Yesterday is a place behind stomps.
The cadence raps at tomorrow’s door
not racing to anything or from anyone but
charging toward a version of the self unlike before
in a dare to temper the spirit by fire.
To ask which tempo is desired,
the one by foot or the one by heart.
To know that every step
