Em Dash

(Image from I.guim.co.uk)


Long-distance running
is futile if all is needed
is a dash
Let 'em sprint when
his spirit is willing
He flies on wings white
with the sun's smile
darkened by moods
that turn violent, sudden
as thunderstorms
from the east
Soaring to heights
never aspired for
finding love in mid-range
older than bald
unsightlier than labor lost
Yearn for return
Strip soul soldiering
faith let go in inches
In a war where
words get dirty down defeated
The reappearance
shall bring peace
A return of fields pristine
Golden, healthy, moving
onward in a lope