This body will not last as long again
as it already has. The halfway mark
recedes with every passing day, and when
the next signpost appears, its script will mark
a finite distance toward a fixed, black spot
that was not visible when I began.
It will be possible at last to plot
the miles that yet remain. The track I ran
will stretch behind, with every turn and bend
that brought me to this point now etched in stone,
unchangeable as that predestined end
toward which every man must run, alone.
No time to rest, and little time to think.
It's getting closer, every time I blink.
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