That dark figure running –
Sprinting ahead – is not your friend,
just a solitary shadow playing pretend.
It’s your secrets, your hopes and all your fears.
It’s your infectious laugh, and your uncried tears.
All your wishes and all your dreams,
being smothered by your static screams.
He holds, in a package under his arm,
your spark, your wit, your fun and charm.
All bundled up, and wrapped with a bow,
as you just stand and watch it go.
Everything stolen - over and done,
Desperate to save it, but you just can’t run.
He rounds the corner, your world goes dark,
a disposable lighter, unable to spark.
That dark figure running –
Sprinting ahead – is not your friend.
It was your future.