My hoofs shatter the glassy ground.
I run.
I'm in a race you see.
I put my foot forward and front.
My hair dances in the air.
My breath leaves and comes back home with groceries.
The Magnificent stage full of dance and play is far far away.
The never-ending sight of empty chairs burns into my mammal eyes.
They must have all ran off to join the race.
I run. I'm in a race you see.
It's still dark in here.
The faint light of the cinema lights my way.
Everyone is in front of me.
Maybe if I didn't stop running here and there,
maybe if I never got lost in this opera,
maybe I could run with pride.
Everyone must be so far in front of me.
Maybe I should just walk or just stop and cry.
As my hoofs leave marks of the floor,
as my hair brushes against the chairs with no doors.
I see a man
A masked man.
Crowning a beautiful mask etched with heart gold and colorful feathers.
The mask shows an expression of playfulness.
Like a child losing himself in the drama of ants.
He sits in silence. Watching the stage from far far away.
I stop dead in my tracks.
"Why do you sit here?
Mustn't you keep running"
I ask condescendingly.
He continues to watch the play in silence from far far away.
I don't understand him.
I ask again,
"Why do you not run?. the more you wait the further the others will go."
The man chuckles. I can't tell if he's laughing at the play or myself.
"what race? My little mammal friend."
The masked man taunts me like a circus jester.
I stand in silence and get ready to go.
But before I fly my wings he speaks gently to me,
"Take a rest, my friend.
And sit upon this throne of thorns.
For the play is beautiful, and watching just for the end has no use at all.
And let the eclipse of life pass through your ever dancing soul.
For mark my words child. It will all be ok.
Now sit and enjoy the play."
His mask smiles, ever so sweetly.
I run.
But not for the race anymore.
I run for the run.
For that was the point of all.
..... The poem written by my son .....
