The Race Poem by Joseph Cross

There's no escape from this race that we face every day of our short lonely lives.
The crimes, the teardrops that we cry, like raindrops falling in the heat of the night.
Silver and gold, treasures untold, hiding just beneath the surface we see here before us now.
We fall, we trip, we crawl and slip our way along this muddy trail, we work so hard, we try not to fail.
But failure comes in its due time, and it would seem, just like this rhyme,
that somewhere just around the bend, our race must inevitably come to an end.