Metamorphosis

Upon entering the military

 

Running, always running.  Running toward or away.

It seems I am being pursued.  Certainly, I am not pursuing.

The thing, it is dark, it is dangerous, it is tireless.

Soon I will falter and have to turn.  I will see the thing coming.

I will see it from my knees, perhaps from my hands and knees.

I will feel the blade, and then I will take up the chase myself,

escaped spark returned to flame.  I will be tireless,

dangerous, dark.  I will cast shadows, and I will pursue them

without end.  I will be the thing.  I will have all patience.