Rolling up a gentle hill
Reaching the peak
Rolling down again
Beneath where it started
It has won the race
Before others departed
It kept rolling out the door
It had a purpose
But no one knew what for
What could it be
Why run the race
All it did was leave a wet path
Right down a face
Why was the race started
What was the prize
Does anyone know
Or did he just need to cry
As the race continued
He huddled in his bed
Wishing he could change
What he never did
Unable to make a decision
Concerning what he knew was forbidden
He pulled out his wallet
He found a hidden picture
It was a picture of his last day with her
She had went away
She had flown the coop
She had left shattered
Without knowing that he was too
He rolled on his back
Though what was the point
He had hurt the one he loved
Because of medieval points
He looked at his book
His book of words
Thousands of years of wisdom
He had never heard
He had read them in silence
He thought he had learned well
But those words were meaningless
Because his heart was in hell
He curled in a ball
Holding her picture
Knowing that at least his tears would always be with her
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