I am a minute refugee;
a run in time,
the first to flee.
I break no stride,
won’t stop to breathe –
away in front
all past I leave.
The first to cross the post and on…
No eyes to see,
just legs to run.
The wind is fast against my ears
A blistered breeze
blows all my fears.
On and on
away I race
no tempo tries to set this pace.
I am a constant refugee
no where to stop
so on I flee.
bujonswords 