The Race

Hold it dear, so dear,
listen, this blood
that races 
is held so dear.

And death will have me held in its ultimate grasp, someday.
For now grasp me,
the moment, of it, life!

No fear will I hold.
Nothing will I forestall,
nor should you.
Tell me with your arms.

Death will have no dominion,
over us
and the dreams
we embrace, all, living!

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