Her Final Race Poem by Heath Gunn

She’s panicking, she’s falling,
Her feet pound on the ground,
Running from pursuer, daren’t look back.

She can see no-one behind her,
But she hears their every move,
Hearing grasses part, and twigs that crack.

Her breath is forced and rushed now,
And her heart it beats so fast,
Adrenaline it courses through her veins.

As her stalker closes in on her,
Slowly drawing near,
It’s as if she’s linked by mystic reins.

The noises they grow louder,
And her anguish and her fear,
Are growing by the second as she runs.

And then she trips and stumbles,
Crashes to the ground,
The impact from the ground to her head stuns.

She struggles, scrambles to her feet,
And tries once more to flee,
From brain to feet it seems so far away.

But a blow into her upper back,
Sends her crashing down,
Mumbling and crying, it’s too late.

Her pursuer, now her captor,
Has her by the hair,
As pounding fists come crashing to her face.

And she lays and bleeds her last,
Upon this bracken bed,
She knows now that she’s lost her final race.

Heath Gunn