A Poem for Thursday

The Running Man.

The man who runs

    is running on the edge.

He never glances back.

He takes an even stride.

With every breath

    exactly as the last

He will not be afraid.

He only looks ahead.

Past events

    inhabit other lands.

They will not pull him down

Nor slow his measured pace.

The running man

    stays cool and beats the crowd.

His ears are blocked

To all unfriendly jeers.

Tho' mournful spirits

    call,he does not heed

Their plaintive cry

 To join them in the deep.

They taunt him

    and they whisper of the past.

Of deeds and words

 He rather would forget.

The running man

    stays low and hugs the edge.

Old tales and fables

Cannot harm his flesh,

Nor claim his mortal soul.

There is  an old celtic tale that the souls of the dead go down into the deep and rise up on the tops of the waves as they crash on the beach. They call to the living to join them. I suppose rather similar to the story of the Rhine Maidens who sit on the rocks at The Lorelei.

These thoughts along with the pun ,"the human race", got me thinking about the things that affect us and would try to pull us down.

I love all of these old stories, they have so much depth to them.