For Boston

To run is to fling yourself forward;
Our worn shoes stomping pavement
Picking up momentum, so we can soar
(If only for a fraction of a second)
To become weightless astronauts.

Yellowed ribbon greet the bold; 
Jaguar spirits bound past ending lines
Relishing that moment of elation
(That sensation of take off)
Before hitting smooth concrete again. 

The roar of the crowd overtakes;
Flushed exuberant faces flutter 
As jaws work loose, mouths expanding
(Heartbeats thump to primal rhythms)
We are unified conquerors of the Earth. 

Today there were no victories:
Insidious smoke suffocated lungs,
Seared tears into flesh and quaked bone
(Buried heroic welcomes under ash)
And knocked out the sun with fire. 

Boston, your run was cut short;
Some nameless shade clipped your 
White wings, feathers now dingy grey
(The body turned over and over) 
Your marathon became a graveyard. 

To run is to fling yourself forward;
Your feet may gush bloodied footprints,
Leaving imprints on the ground
(Creating crimson riverbeds)
But you Boston cannot be caged——

You win despite this race. 

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