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.