run. love. write

i run

knowing i’ll never win. i love

knowing you’ll never be mine. i write

knowing i’ll never be read

hope is a distant thing

i work with the certainty of defeat

and it gets worse every year

downward spiral, pause, drift, repeat

running is just an attempt of mine

of making peace with distance and time

those timeless enemies of love

the eternal bane of my life

my love is just a stupid mime

a vain lonely exercise

to keep myself distracted

and keep the poetry going

my poems are just serving time

with no life of their own outside

my fading notebooks, unread

stashed away beneath the bed

and yet

day after day

week after week

season after season

i continue to write

to run. to love

for no other reason

but that i must

run

away from things. love

away my loss. write

away my longing