Each moment brings us closer to the finish line.
Dancing through the steps in time.
We humans will forge deep into the mine.
Drop the dross from submerged mind.
We build up walls to hem us in.
No wonder we cannot connect, full of fears.
Reaching out to bring neighbour closer.
Twisting fingers through the veil of tears.
The blind woman sits, motionless on the porch.
Milky orbs twitching.
Her hands buried within lace borders.
Trapped like her sight.
I would feel sorry, I could give a damn.
But that little old lady, swung my hand.
She told a fortune that would not pass.
Fingers curling over broken glass.
Too fast I went, in her future glance.
That bridge it seems went askance.
A tyre and wheel parted company.
With fenders protective curl.
Now I lay, broken and torn.
Lifeblood leaking from marred lips scorn.
Twisted metal is my sash.
At least I didn't eat that dash.
Come another, come what may.
Someone needs to save the day.
Why doesn't the old lady call it in?
Her knowledge and inaction, I call a sin.
To know the future, to understand the past.
Take lessons learned, distill the crash.
The finish line is not the end.
Remember laps start again.
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