The Marathon: Parts I-VI

I recall starting this poem in a bygone year. But I don't think I finished it. I: The Runners Beyond the metaphysical divide Where clouds of doubt may burgeon and confound A contest was arranged to help decide How ultimate salvation might be found The marathon would draw an eager crowd Whose entertainment stringers guaranteed The brightly coloured pennants fluttered proud Along the lengthy running route agreed Contestants two assembled for a match Of clashing methods to attain the goal With one determined luxuries to catch The other after credits for his soul Pleones had a fine estate amassed To elevate him high above his peer By cravings was he reckoned to outlast And by his ruthlessness, to sharply steer Against Pleones, Veritus was plain And modest as a champion can be Whatever prize he undertook to gain Would not be so immediate to see The customary starting point was placed With bystanders arrayed in ringing rows As on the track, the centrepieces paced Attempting to allay their nervous throes In seven stages would the race proceed Attached by an endurance testing trail The first to each, by virtue of his lead Would of his chosen bounty first avail Pleones took his place beside his foe And turned his head to give a spiteful look But from the gruelling distance left to go The gaze of Veritus could not be shook II: The Marshes The gun provoked a loud and cheerful roar And, neck and neck, the runners passed the gate As open country, both were headed for Where obstacles lay secretly in wait Their onlookers could cast restraining eyes The whole way to the city's outer line But treachery was free to exercise Once deep into the marshes, they would wind The ground below their feet grew soft and wet And wild overgrowth would all enclose When resolute, his accolade, to get A shortcut off the trail, Pleones chose Though cunning marked the corners of his grin His first plateau reduced to steps away The quicksand that he stumbled squarely in Elicited a holler of dismay As soon as Veritus perceived the yelp He scrambled through the weeds towards the sound And offering his sturdy arm as help Returned the fallen one to solid ground A measured space outside the muddy moat Pleones thanked the hero with a shove And paused for but a twinkling to gloat Before he turned to seize the spoils above He found a table set with jugs of wine Each bottled in the foremost vintage year He opened one to sate his palette fine But, by and by, he drank the table clear Believing that his rescuer had died He fell into a comfortable snooze The fitter man had nature's law applied To make sure that the better man would lose III: The Great Vortex Though Veritus plunged head first in the pit A tree root had his trailing shoelace caught His clasping hand secured a hold on it And up he struggled to his former spot Insisting to abide by rules of play He went back to the point he'd furthest run To cover the entire legal way Until he reached the clearing of Stage One He found Pleones peaceful in a dream The lawn a mess from drunken folly blind And bathed himself in water from the stream Pleones had not ventured more to find Straight down the sloping thoroughfare he strode Restored for this most challenging of treks Towards the spinning maze of carved out road Known infamously as the Great Vortex The topsy-turvy way that he was led By rubber ground that traveled on its own Proved that the only way to get ahead Was running backwards into the unknown Pleones woke in time to see his loss But quickly moved to reassume his place By sending out a bulging wave to toss The upstart Veritus to idle space Dishonesty was favoured by the route So that Pleones smoothly crossed it all A tangle of soft arms held widely out Directed him to his next port of call Sweet virgins from the whole surrounding land Would make for him an adequate reward He took the first one firmly by the hand As out of sight, his rival was ignored IV: The Cave With more triumphant cheer propelling him Pleones sought to deviate his course Which took him into tunnels deep and dim But guile was his favourite resource He paused a moment to ignite a flame When by a giant moth he was beset In terror, he ran back the way he came And turned the signpost, vicious trap to set Remaining in the lead, he trotted slow And stayed within the arbitrary lane Projecting out, of diligence, a show Against his true desire to complain The gallery of masterpieces shone With signatures of artists hardly late He left the paintings with his driver, Ron And told him to collect them in a crate Since Veritus had slipped into a void He'd failed to lower down, the ground to meet And would have probably become annoyed To have to further do without his feet To help him sink to where the ground had gone He grabbed a passing bubble of hot air The exit was a long and hard way on Compelled to somersault the whole way there Content to kiss the soil, he waived the bed Though comforting and spacious was its lure And hastened through the conifers instead According to the next leg of the tour Obediently heeding detour's note He veered in a new line towards the south Into the cave suspiciously remote To disappear inside its gloomy mouth V: The Vanishing Ravine The bridge across the Vanishing Ravine Hung weakly on a slender stretch of cord Pleones went the jagged gap between Then with his knife, a deadly notch, he scored Confined by flat and hot terrain, he frowned Deprived of any other path but right And bottles of the grape in which he'd drowned Conspired now to make his head feel light The trusting Veritus, caught in the dark Was forced to, on a makeshift lamp, rely The fluttering was on him like a shark Which proved to be a gentle butterfly The play of light had taken him aback Exaggerating shadows on the wall But he remained tenaciously on track And would not for the shrewd illusion fall The shortcut all but cancelled his delay So that he reached the gallery stripped bare In time to see the driver pull away And of his progress, to become aware The badlands, their exhausting vigil, kept Proceeding to the damaged woven link And gingerly he could not more have stepped Nor of his peril, had less time to think Since then had sly Pleones put to use The ultimate solution for the heat A purpose for his pocket money loose A rickshaw slave to help him best compete He had enough to get him through the rest And sauntered up to claim the local prize A filled to overflowing jewelry chest Of which a pharaoh's wife might fantasize VI: The Old Forgetful Hills The sureness of a rickshaw handler's grip Of one who'd come along to find a fare Let Veritus, his fatal tumble, skip And let advancing forth remain his care Though hard the beating sun rays, he endured And measured every conquest with a stride The treasure chest was empty, probe assured A single silver compass left inside The instrument would compliment his skills To navigate in territory strange And help him cross the Old Forgetful Hills However far his course would have to change But led astray by needle's failing tack To where a creeping fog sets age's pace His memory of how to double back Was gone as years were added to his face Of course, the faulty compass had by choice Been left behind for Veritus to take By he who in disaster would rejoice And he who from deceptions would not break Pleones jogged serenely round the snare Rejuvenated by a homeward aim To stadium and limelight's well spent glare Once he was named the winner of the game As long as he was leading, it was fun And lawful conduct suitable to keep He had by far the greater balance won And wondered if he might achieve a sweep With his new gleaming trophy, he'd make do A dream machine to help him stay amused His triumph was the only sense he knew While Veritus grew creased and more confused (to be continued)
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© 2016. Verses by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.