When the mundane routine beckons
An uncharacteristic tremor is desired
Yet, I turn my back on the door
All I get from running is tired

Making my own path through the fields
Turning to see no one around me
A silhouette approaching from the sun
Against the wind I flee

Transfixed at the sight from way up above,
of the benign waves caressing the shore
Unable to take the step that I should
Unable to bear the thought for a second more

Shielding my eyes from the piercing truth
Eternally existing in blunt display
I close my eyes, and surrender to ignorance
All I seem to be doing is running away