SATURDAY MORNING by Nick Arndt

Saturday morning,

Midnight black crows high, soaring,

Echoing battle.

 

The sun is shining,

Scarlet leaves, from oaks, falling,

Binding battleground.

 

Complete town flocking,

Hourly-groomed ground shaking,

Fitting the moment.

 

Critics babbling,

Reporters interviewing,

Holding pens, notebooks.

 

Runners propelling,

Death-bitten faces drooping,

Revealing hard work.

 

Muscles contracting,

Precious, salty sweat leaving,

Focusing the mind.

 

Racers move, fading,

Yells and cheers, in ears, piercing,

Quitting thoughts arise.

 

Leaders approaching,

Finish line, results, waiting,

Motivating all.

 

Death, hell is ending,

Terre Haute within grasping,

Rewarding the strong.

 

Hours of training,

Satisfaction, pride thriving,

Punching tickets, now.

 

(This haiku was crafted in 2011.  A haiku consists of three-line stanzas with a 5-7-5 syllable format.  It reflects my vision of preparing and racing in the Semi-State.  “The only thing that stands between a man and what he wants is the will to try it and the faith to believe that it’s possible.”)

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