Yes, I was made fleet of feet
Able to run the race swiftly
The yearn to be the first to the line
To always tick a faster time
But I was also given a tock
A keen awareness of the clock
That there was an opponent
Beyond my finest moments
Erasing all the records written
With lance smiting achilles tendons
Before the ink could even dry
The fading of a once vivid sky
And so in vain the recorder played
Notes upon paper for moments stayed
Then the fade
Sounds once surrounding
Silent in the once holding
For the time it was a grand run
And how we recalled the sun
how brightly it shown
How it warmed
and didn't burn.
Records meant to be broken
Words once spoken
Never meant for ever
Places of cheering
Never for remembering
Yet the tock in me
Tried desperately.
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