Poetry

Poetry

Resting On Open Hands

What do I have that I can claim is mine? What do I have that You have not first given me? What by my own effort can I maintain? What power do I have to keep even a single breath in my lungs? What power do I have to guarantee even my own life for one moment more? Do I pretend to know the moment of my death? How much more am I powerless to try and guarantee even more? Therefore, let me do away with false pretenses. Let me cast aside the notion that by holding on with tight

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Poetry

Two Steps

It took two steps to get to the top of the podium. To wear my medal. To hear my song. It took 29,808 steps to get to the finish line. Each becoming more grueling than the last. It required everything of me. It took 1.98 million steps to get to the start line. Logging miles after long days. Early mornings running repeats up the hill. Sacrifices of time and comfort. Everyone dreams of the podium. Some people know what it takes to race. Only those that sacrifice to put in the work before the start line can truly understand those two steps.

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