Finding the Light

Shadowed by cover
A cardiac race 
Begins its first lap 
But it knows no set pace 

Frightened by the prospect 
Of pulling the trigger first 
My hand rests on the pump 
As I feel a sudden thirst 

A thirst to leave the shadow 
And pull the trigger, too 
But I shun the concept 
Of being marked so soon 

Like a yellow flag 
I slow the race 
That consumes me 
Steals my grace 

I leave the shadow 
My wits are far behind 
But my vision remains 
Anything but blind 

A foe is spotted 
Somewhere near 10 o’clock 
I shoot once before 
I’m required to re-cock 

I hide within the shadow 
Until I take a second peek 
I see my former target 
But now he seems so meek 

I see paint dripping 
Covering his lens 
I’m rushed by ecstasy 
As I find that my team wins 


-John Jeffcott (Savant)