Finish Line

Pacing strides, void of caring,

is what trauma leaves behind

when all we take from the qualifying heats

are disappointments;

painful memories trailing

back to the starting line.

And sorrow weighs too heavy

in the struggle for endurance.

Pity parches the sour mouths of those

who suffer neglect or beg for mercy;

and exhaustion is the levy

of brave but wretched perseverance.

Hatred burns too hot for the marathon of life,

but forgiveness unveils purgatory.

At the finish line, no one cares

who is victim, who offender.

Love simply lost is the purse of indifference,

Empty distance its plastic trophy.

Sybilla