The Fire

When the fire catches up to us
In this infernal race against it
I refuse to let the flames consume
And instead will run further out.

Somewhere past the constant horizon
I will fall short of breath and strength,
Fatigue will strangle my last bit of hope
And those great flames will devour me.

But while I am able and steady: I run,
And deny my legs the empty ending;
It makes little sense and takes more time
To explain that running, altogether, is

Pointless.