She runs

Soles pounding the pavement
Crowds pumping their fists
Drowned by the sound of her breath
Drowned by the sound of her thoughts:

They’re all behind me,

There’s no-one - and perhaps nothing - ahead.

But that’s the problem, 

They’re all behind me:

These burdens -

On her heels, on her back, on her mind - 

Eternally chasing

Pounding her soul.

And so she runs.

She must run.

Disguised, in the dark of dawn

is when she usually trains.

Far from comfort, the race-day sun

is cold and crushing.

The air is clear, her mind is not.

The pain in her body not clouding 

the pain of the past.

Forgive me my debts, she mutters

Though no one hears - 

they just cheer.

She’s certain of a win

Not certain if victory buys absolution.

She fears it won’t, but 

as the only penance she knows

She runs.

And as she runs

He climbs.

He climbs not to the sound of cheers

but jeers. Yet

he hears only cries.

He hears her cry. 

The weight of the wood not heavier than

the weight of the world.

Father forgive them, he mutters.

She crosses the line

At the cross, it is finished

Darkness invades daylight

In the dark once again

She rises.

Not knowing he climbed

She still runs.

Poem runner up in the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, Tasmania, 2021. Theme: The Lord's Prayer