An English Sonnet by Drako Sullivan
My pace steady, brisk. In a hurry.
I stretch beyond my reach, too weak, gasping
bended over with hands resting on my knees.
No time for rest, too close, must keep running.
Been pushed to the limit, tested by time.
I have seen the weak break and meet their demise.
Only a few able to keep sound minds.
Penitentiaries, only the zealous can survive.
Unwanted, my tears creep down my cheek, I’m drained.
My grief comes from a never-ending chase
full of regrets. This sorrow ripes my pain!
Closer I get liberty picks up her pace.
Resting my feet, my mind at peace.
Gotcha liberty, with immediate release.