Life was feeling pretty hopeless at this point,
I was so far behind I was ahead,
The lovely lady in green behind me,
I followed until the hill below us,
Confirmed the theory of our gravity.
I didn’t even try to win because I knew I couldn’t,
Not cross the finish line first, win, which I couldn’t have,
But win something over myself, win,
Which I hadn’t a need to.
What I am is a runner through life,
Following a path marked more clearly at times than others,
But laid out long before I got there,
With judges and measuring devices,
Tools, often sharp, occasionally steel, frequently announced,
There was a gun at the start.
To win over myself is to assume I know better than I do,
While knowing less than I could,
It’s to take sides against myself,
And defend them.
In the defense of me,
Is the offense of I,
Courtrooms are always more expensive than companions,
Lawyers, than gardeners.