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Rated: E · Poetry · Opinion · #1400960
a metaphore for the racers, the ones who don't think.
Racers
James Collymore


They are the racers.
They race along the track of time,
Never stopping, never refuelling.
Never pausing, never checking, and never thinking.
Never waiting for the next flag down,
Never thinking, just doing.

They have nothing but time

What for? Nothing.
Risking their time for nothing but the sake of it,
just so they can stay ahead!
So they can live the thrill of winning.

Instant gratification, like they’ll never live tomorrow,
Like they need it now, or not at all.
Like there’s no such thing as the past, or the future,
Because now matters. For them, it’s always now.

Their cars break down, their oil leaks,
Their tyres are flat, their windscreen’s shattered,
But they still go on, when it would be better to quit,
They keep going until it’s too late to stop.
And if they go down, they take the world down with them.

The world would be better if everyone walked…
© Copyright 2008 Johnathan Vladmir Chessington (jamescollymore at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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