The jogger runs

his daily mile,

mind far away

and on his face,

a weary smile.


The woes of the world

mean little to him,

for his world,

his life, his days,

are growing dim.


The need to complete

this final race,

no glittering prize,

just a flash of glory,

enough to save face.


Hold his head up, proud

and desperately defy,

for a moment of freedom

in a dying man’s eye.


Must make it to the end

before the pain sets in,

creeping through his bones

like a leper from within.


If only he knew when,

his eyes now too dry

to shed another tear,

no longer able to deny.


Just one more mile

and the game will be up,

another soul to collect,

a lonely life to corrupt.


The deal, once so welcomed

as the answer to his dreams,

now a debt to be collected

and added to the screams.


The end comes into view

as the pain begins to mount.


The long, lingering path

for which he has to account.


A cold, clawing shadow

reaches up, from deep within.


“This you can’t out-run my friend,

this game you cannot win.”




Written by Darren Scanlon, July 2011.

Revised 2nd February 2016.

©2016 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. gauravbarot says:

    Loved it!!

    Liked by 1 person

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