This poem is the second in a series of poems I wrote in response to the poetry of Seamus Heaney, which we studied in my English class recently. (Read the first poem here). This poem is based on Heaney’s poem “Oysters”, though I think it also has a lot in common with “The Underground”.
The chase is endless
But my feet are not winged:
They weep with broken promises
Of stops along the way.
In this race, you cannot
Seek guidance at highway speeds.
Should there be more,
is there more?
How could there be anything more
Than that pursuit
Which I love and I hate;
Breath burns, but I swallow
Gladly. I would not give it up
Though I gasp.
I think I have always been gasping.
Lungfuls of air were the Beginning, so like
The End. Now, there, is it in sight?
Not immortality, cash, fame: that
Peace and Purpose might catch me
In the race of this cold night.