The Chase

A Poem

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

dreadful, isn’t it —
to be so full of want
like a flower craving sun
after being locked in the dark?

or would you rather
she be like a fox running
through the woods,
a hunter tracing her steps?

but what would you do
if you weren’t the instigator,
if you weren’t the mastermind,
if you weren’t the spider spinning webs?

what would you do
if the chase reversed on itself
like a puzzle piece fit into a new spot,
like a game with its rules being rewritten?

what if the story
doesn’t go the way you planned?
what if the tricks
are turned against you?

you can call it bad luck
that she caught on a bit too fast,
or maybe you’ll just laugh it off
because the new game’s enticing too.

but what does it matter
if the end results are the same?
but what does it matter
if you have her sooner rather than later?