The Third Runner

We all die, but we all rise
I see the cannonballs wave red flags
And we sleep tonight unalarmed.
These physical vandals
These crafty magicians
With their long distance Runners
And their sheep-skin scrolls
I understand.
But this point I've missed
Goes reminisced
And told in circles of white.
Surrounded, captured while asleep
Opaque mastery.
Suffering is suffering and
Crashing in is crashing in
And the waves lap at my composure.
Frantic glances and flippant thoughts
Give way to a stuttering silence.
We may be one tonight
But we are independent organs and limbs
All working ignorant of each other.
And as these massive weights collapse
And rain upon my shaky plans
The piercing brown and gold do cause
A splintering, choking silence.
We drink our alabaster wine and contemplate
The blooming complications
Of our overlapping indecisions.
I better not fight it
But you better not cave in
Because to let me loose so easily
Would be to shake the balance
Of the Runner's strict mentality
And the nature of all design.