Running of Age

These ancient guttered streets,
Worn signs and pot holes,
Hard to follow with childish feet
Dangerous to patrol,

Spread out into the great unknown
A mission, a compulsion
Tangled with sticks and stones,
Each step its own propulsion.

Running once, and fleeing,
I’ve learned these roads now.
Enemies near and seething
Fall back silenced, disavowed.

Sometimes I still stumble
These roads have deep ruts,
But the nature of the humble
Admits falling, gets up,

Keeps walking.