I am a valiant courier of life.  The flame borne is a noble message sent only to a select few.  It is for those who hear with open hearts and open minds.  It is to those who live.

Running through the dark night in a desperate relay of wills, the race is to those who are faster and stronger and willing to fight harder for the unpromised.  Dare I to carry the light?  If by no other means, how else shall I see?

Though populated by a thousand eyes when the day has but one, the bright world passes away as the sun falls below the horizon, and I am left to journey the darker path.  This way is chilled and fraught with ancient obstacles hidden in shadows deep.  Why travel such a route?

In the light of day the enemy’s eyes consume me, and it strokes the fray of existence.  Perhaps in the dark such enemies are also weakened.  I am mindful of many who watch with hungry gazes scratching at my skin.  Dare they challenge one so willing to carry it through?

Too many wait to run, too many are willing to wait and watch in hope of seeing the better pathway.  Many before and many behind left stranded by their own trembling, their fear weakens them so they are unable to lift high the standard.  Why wait to run?  Only the swift can approach the finish line.  Only the weak see it as too great a challenge.

What your parents began can only be finished by you.  There will be no crowd to cheer you on.  If you are destined to finish, you must risk travel at night lest you witness only halflife.

I am true but not fearless or fearful, yet I stand bravely in the face of that which would deny me.  It is the living to whom the race is promised.  Tarry aside the course and realize your own loss.  Unfulfilled promises are the rewards for those who wish only to observe due to an abundance of caution.

Such is the unlife blanketed upon most.  Too frightened to risk the darkness, to dark to face the risk, they huddle in blank masses of motionless vision cast upon those dear runners willing to carry it home.

Rest not by the wayside, weary contender, for there lies the unloving apathy of torpor and death.  Night’s ravenous contemplation by voracious wolves of slough will capture all but life’s runner.

To survive, I must live.  No greater recommendation can be made than that you do the same.

Living goes only to the courageous racer.

No matter what others do, I shall be a runner in life, not a spectator.

[circa 1996]