Flitting over grassy knolls, sun bathing their innocent faces, care left behind with the wind, they run.
Through woods; through cool, splashing streams:
Sprays of water, sun dappled, caress flushed, sweaty faces with cool mothers' hands.

They run to nowhere - from nothing.
They run, for in running they comprehend.
They run for life is freedom unburdened, untamed by an adult's view:
Nothing considered, nothing in doubt.

Over puddles and through shady eucalyptus the boys race,
Matched stride for stride, breath for breath, crunching twigs beneath school-shoe fettered feet.
Each trying to prevail - neither desiring it to be so.
Each finding solace in the sweet, silent singing of laboured muscles and mutual strength.

Connected through motion - brothers in soul if not in blood - the boys run.

If one should stumble, the other will slow.
Should one misstep, the other would know.
And through this silent bond the boys ask, "When?
When should we stop running and become men."





*Dedicated to my best friend: I hope I have captured something of what we shared and still do share, though metaphor is so inadequate.*
*For Chris, the infamous GreekPhilosopher*

See also: "A Brief History In Time: Greek & Delph (A Story Of Friendship)" by GreekPhilosopher.