Running Man Nebula Poem by Harley White

Running Man, where are you running to?
Is it Orion's Sword you fear?
Sharpless two seven nine formally,
‘Running Man' in parlance normally,
in full flight you seem to appear,
or maybe such clashes you eschew.

Are you pursuer or the pursued?
With what spatial vim are you imbued?

Striking indeed is this stunning view
caught in highly dramatic pose,
could it be yourself you're running from,
something you are afraid to become?
I suppose only heaven knows
in the celestial hullabaloo.

Is there a parallel on the Earth
like Man's deluded senses of worth?

From what or whom are you taking flight?
When will you finally end it
or reach the destination you seek?
Of what strong need does your speed bespeak?
Perhaps we can comprehend it
with pareidolia's second sight.

In such an evocative image
one might perceive mankind's lineage
endeavoring from itself to flee
or running to ‘be' from ‘not to be'.