His body is bruised, his strength is flickering,

His path his dark but he must keep running.

With parched throat and red eyes he rummages for solace,

He must keep running, because he doesn’t want the disgrace.

Neck deep in melancholy, he gropes in the mist,

Maybe he will find an angel, or maybe meet someone’s fist.

Loneliness is a sad affair, how he yearns for companionship,

But who is the one, how would he know, who will understand his fix.

Down the road he continues to tread,

In search of answers which a part of him dreads.

He stops short, what if that is not what I am looking for,

But who is he to decide the answer to the question he is tormented for.

All the world’s a stage, the Bard once said, and how well did he say,

All one can do is keep going and pray that he doesn’t sway.

At the far end of his path he spots a divine light,

A smile spreads across his face, the sky suddenly seems bright.

He races towards his destiny, for he has found his elixir

The answer to all his prayers, the key to all his dreams.

He now has a spring in his steps as he takes long strides,

He has a retort for every aspersion cast and for every chide.

He reaches the light and stands humbled before its glory,

“O Magnificient One, render a fitting end to my story.

I have stumbled time and again in the pursuit of triumph,

I am battered and bruised and I cannot bear to fall in any more slumps. ”

The light shines even brighter and blinds him momentarily,

And then it disappears, oh so hastily.

Engulfed with darkness he decides to run again,

After all he is a seasoned runner, be it in any terrain.

He leaves behind the place where he deemed his answers lay,

But as he runs he realizes that all his demons he has slay.

For success did not lie in any divine light shining,

Triumphant was him, the one who kept running.