feet are tired and aching,
Covered with blisters and sores.
The road behind is corroded;
I've fallen on knees, all fours.
Chasing, seeking, breathing
For one purpose and it stands alone:
To discover what belongs to me,
and surrender my grace, my own.
Just once I'd like to be the prey;
Someone need me enough to pursue,
Lest I always be the one to search,
and every day I breathe, I rue.
Is my life not worthy of a tangled race?
Is my breath but stale and stanch?
Are my eyes but dead, holes in my head?
My wings too frail to branch?
There is no greed over my heart.
No want, no wish, no plea.
No fiery intent to insult my foes,
No sailor in my wine-dark sea.
Yet still I run, and run I deem
Will I for a thousand years long,
Until I leap off the edge of this cliff
And into the arms of whom I belong.