The Chase
In the shade of the tree that endures all storms,
A shadow limps, erratic, and broken.
Scarred from countless falls, yet undeterred,
chasing light where the dark still clings.
Each stumble, a strike against the dust,
Gravel biting at raw skin and bone.
The ball; filthy, frayed, spit-soaked,
Glows in the filth, daring all to follow.
No surrender, only the chase,
Where every scrape, every ego's bruise,
Feeds the fire, keeps the breath,
Demands the body move again.
Let the dark winds howl, the rains descend,
This dog knows its purpose is clear.
No choice. Only the chase.
I fall. I bleed. I get up again.
