By Brennen Lord
I consider myself to be fairly new to this sport, with about two years since my first run and six months since my first marathon. So when I began to consider how I could contribute to The CAW, I knew it wouldn’t be advice or guidance. What I realized I could give, however, is what running means to me. What it teaches, how it serves, how it builds me up, and how it tears me down. This poem is my modest attempt at getting to some of that essence. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
Nowhere to Run
Waking visions of exuberant throat
Fatherless dogs rally and bark
To spill wild blood, to fill the moat
The castle is barred
Until cities, valleys, markets, and alleys
Are exempted this shallow regard
Dawns muffled cough, it wakes the bunch
From the eternal, unbothered drowse
All of this, on some curious hunch
Forgotten context and labored breath
Legs carrying themselves away from
And towards a patient Death
Eyes closed, ancients underfoot
Bashful licks of light and shadow
Pulsing ecstasy drips a sticky soot
A peeling sun breaks the horizon line
Lungs greedy and insatiable
Bursting in rapture, dislodging the spine
Towards the unfathomable cosmos above
In pleasant company of the immortals
We drink in hate and cry out Love.
About the Author
Born and raised in Manchester, New Hampshire, Brennen Lord now spends his days running around New Hampshire’s Seacoast and the Asian continent during the winter months. A casual runner who enjoys the occasional foray into marathons, he is also an artist, brother, bartender, and plant-based “chef.”
