So much of himself
Fell off on his sprint
To where
He could be alone
He swoons with trophy
In bloody skeletal hands
Weeping, for
All that he missed
While he ran,
Frantic,
In search of
A quiet place
Saddened
by the subtle
Joy
present -
Snippet of
victory
Dying
Under the weight
Of triumph
Over all that
Should have
Mattered
As his heart beats
A pyrrhic meter
The fog clears
And he sees…
He is victorious
But too near death
To feel its worth.
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