Cheetah Under the Sun

He lays down on a rug made out of grass.

Grass green, wet, and fresh, while everything

Else around him wakes up to the sun above,

And he knows it’s not time to run yet.

He looks around, like many times before,

And recognizes his world, the world he

Inhabits, and maybe owns. But he knows better.

No one owns anything, not anymore.

If he got up, he could run fast, faster than

Most around him, faster than ever before, perhaps.

But the morning is young, and he is not

anymore, so he stays down, contemplating the sun.

How many times he thought the day wouldn’t

Come, where he felt too tired to run? How many

Times did he think the mornings were

Infinite, like his sun, and his world?

Now laying down, not ready yet

To run, he wonders where the time

Has gone. If the mornings are running

Out, and his world is not his anymore.

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