The Runner
An elegy for Peter Holmes
The pistol fires. There is no sound,
As footsteps start to churn the ground.
One young man, no longer there,
Leaves behind his racing wear.
Forever reaching to the sky,
There was no earthly reason why
He journeyed to that foreign track,
And shoulder-high was carried back.
When last we met he boldly beat me,
Now the memories alone defeat me.
Our rivalry has turned to pain:
I miss him most for what he loved:
A contest pure, unchained, un-gloved.
Not petty acts of spite or war,
But that which makes us something more.
The passing miles are silent now,
The watch alone can tell us how
The ailing seconds tick today.
His words no longer ease the way.
His faith was strong, and all his own.
Perhaps this comforts me alone:
He, the runner, will ever be,
Running strong.
Running true.
Forever free.
The poem, barring subsequent improvements, was originally written for Pete’s funeral. It took inspiration from his harrier spirit, and two moving texts: A. E. Housman’s beautiful ‘To An Athlete Dying Young’ and Pete’s favourite verse from the Bible (New International Version):
"I run in the path of Your commands,
for You have set my heart free."
Psalm 119:32
