As my mind is constantly pacing,
so the feet of my inner child
are constantly racing.
The fear of something,
never unmasked,
has taken up residence
like a forgotten task
whose absence remains unknown
until the lightning bolt of clarity
brings it home.
Slapping against cobble stones,
a man’s feet are still racing,
as there is no abating
from the spectre always shading
the depths of our Hero’s
every shadow.
Cyclical like wheels in locomotion,
this “nowhere to go” persists,
despite the cyclones
left in the wake
of our Hero’s relentless pursuit.