She was promised in a dream that
One could learn to run so swift and pure
That her ears would attune to a
Single divine note, the sound
Of the world itself singing.
But unused to pushing past the
Boundaries of fleshly comfort,
She earned only bitter breathlessness,
Immutable proof of lack of fitness for
The gift of that elusive music.
Today she stands among the throng
Gathered at the marathon’s end,
Seeking in each passing runner’s glance
Evidence of the enlightenment denied her.
If you should see her there, be kind.
For Poetic Bloomings prompt – It Makes Sense