My last poem for the half marathon–THE TWELVE HOURS

THE TWELVE HOURS

When at the eleventh hour,
The final whistle travels by the air.
The workaholics stand to the podium!

The podium becomes a pinnacle
For the survivors
Once my eyes stuck on the screen
As I laid beside the rippling river to the east

Silently I gazed in the sky
For I sat on countless hours
That the clock may chime one o’clock!

Leaves wobbling through the woods
That they might fall on my forehead
As I finally opened the gifted casket
Then I recap a tone from a throne
That to gain is to sacrifice

The nightingale whispers
Through the air into my ears
Telling me of a poetry marathon

Yes! The twelve
And the twenty four hours journey!
A Journey I then chose
From the jingling of my veins!
The Half marathon!