100 Metres

I stand,

A great statue of smooth marble, breathe in.

Glassy eyes peering from the sky. Breathe out.

I prepare,

Convince myself I am a winner, breathe in.

I am a winner, breathe out.

I tense,

Every fibre of my being melds into bone, breathe in,

My entire body fluid, breathe out,

Working in unison for one purpose, breathe in,

One goal, one race, one medal, breathe out.

A distant cry pierces my skull and,

I release,

My legs aflame, I propel forward,

Slicing through the air,

Sweat dripping, forming clouds of perspiration behind me,

And with one final step it is over,

My muscles snap rigid, groaning.

I drop,

Bitter-sweet tears stream down my face,

Everything I worked for,

Fought in the blink of an eye,

A flutter of a flag,

A flash of a camera.

Now I rest,

Only until the next goal, the next race, the next medal,

The next step.

Enlightenment

I lay down willing sleep until the fresh dawn,

My mind drifts into the perpetual cliche of night-time musings,

But the darkness, which harks back to Plato's cave,

Just stares, 

Unmoving, 

Relentless,

Staring back I see only a pinprick of light in the distance.

The light casts long shadows that envelop

Me in a blanket of torturous tricks,

And as I begin to question the lights very existence,

Wondering how a light could shine in this night

Of labyrinthe mazes of fools and madmen,

I find myself asking,

As a calm befitting a crystalline river overtakes me,

How can there be great shadows without glorious light?

By Roger Jenkins