Large figures chasing you with soft noises,
                                                       for voices,
     long fingers reaching as your short legs,
  and little feet run and your laughter begs,
                                                         for more.

The heart pounds
     as you run laughing.

          Growling faces chase each other in this place,
  of sport where points count and effort on your face,
on each combatants face, explain the pain of the pace,
all for a ball without mercy or grace, to give up
                                                              ­         a disgrace.

The heart pounds
    as you run to do battle.

You see that person for the first time, or the tenth time,
                                              you
hope, you will see them over and over for the enth time,
your eyes meet and            
                                             you
                                                         fall harmlessly into the
drumming sound, that suddenly got louder in your chest.


The heart pounds
                  as you.. .. race toward.. .. each other.

A small cry, tears to your eyes
more to life than meets the eye,
more pairs of hands and feet,
         your family is complete.

The hearts pound
   as you two live out creation.
                             And dreams.

Alone, with walls chalk white and no feeling,
     watch sticky flies move and paint peeling,
the only visitors are lost in the colour of the walls,
                                         you
hear voices so familiar, distant echoes down halls.
Then they are gone, all is unwelcome and strange again.

The heart pounds
      irregular growing weaker,
                                                  like your resolve.

                Still, the heart pounds, catching on every
                                         hope,
                                                  you ever had.

©ClemC082013