We run

Through where we know.



A plate smashes and a voice booms

Drowning out the television



That tells of mass execution,

Mass flooding,

mass horror.



But, we run

Through where we know.



Where booming voices and plates smashing

Are just the custom,

The soundtrack of these walls.



So, we run

Through where we know.



Warming by the winter fire

That burns all the way through

And encapsulates the intense heat.



As we sweat.



Still, we run

Through where we know.



Because running is what we know -

Not arriving

In some removed world

That maybe brings peace

but maybe holds the TV’s reality.



No, we’ll run

Through where we know