Trance

A high's hostage, I become
feet striking earth like drums,
lungs burning like pyres,
and on my face, a smile,
the one tribesman wear
when they've already won the hunt by showing up.

The body moves but the mind stills,
Coldness dissolves into heat,
Breath turns into tune,
Wind transmutes frequency,
A rhythm is born.

Every step a declaration,
every stride a liberation:
I am here, I am moving, I am alive.
I am one with the pavement.

A runner's high,
the warrior's gift,
that place beyond time
where speed becomes flow,
and breath awakens ecstasy.

Miles blur into zen,
the road becomes ceremony,
and somewhere in the high,
you understand what the Spartans knew:

There's a smile that lives
on the other side of fear,
a joy that only comes
when you've given everything
and decided to give more.

This is flow.