The grass slides by – a rushing blur;
I’m running from what lies behind
But nothing’s really chasing me.
The wheels are spinning like my thoughts,
They’re wearing down my mind and strength
Each time I try to find an end.
This constant confusion and loss
Has grown as my shadow follows;
I watch as the sun goes to grey.
Tomorrow perhaps the new light
Will find me still searching the earth;
Eventually though I’ll be gone.
11.2.19
Nathaniel West Clark 