The Race

If I close my eyes,
I can visualise it,

As though
I’m in the same place,
And yet everything else
Is peeled away.

All those layers
Of pointless toil
And torment,
Gone in an instant.

Leaving everything
That is good and now,
Remaining the same.

The march of time
Seems to be
Increasing its wretched pace,

While I’m beginning
To slow,
To stumble,
Beginning
To question:

Why am I in this race?

If I stop now,
The spectators will follow
The leaders,

And I can slip away
Quietly from the track,

Silently fall
Through the cracks,

And no one will notice
I had gone.

What a comfort,
What a joy,
What a moment
of complete bliss

It will be,
When my mind
Can finally stop running.