You see them running,
burning, brightly lit:
Those peers whose work
to match is your remit.

How bright they are,
in hours, words, and deeds!
Give chase and you will
see where their path leads.

Wreathed now in flames
you seek to join their race;
no thought for those who
don’t keep up the pace.

Though difficult, your work
does briefly shine,
fey inspiration
for those left behind.

And soon they too may
join the conflagration;
pour fuel, leap,
abjuring hesitation.

While hasty progress
others does impress,
the total distance traveled
will be less.

Your brilliant troupe
in sequence sears the night!
Yet each bright spark soon
forfeits it’s own light.

Spent and exhausted,
flecks of ash drift down,
invisible though
once of great renown.

These drifting husks
are no-one’s envied peer;
their presence is
obscure to eye and ear.

And slowly trudging onwards
bearing embers,
a different group of
travellers remembers:

Exalt the brightest only
and you’ll wonder
do they all bear the burden
that I’m under?

Though embers cast scant light,
and that but slowly,
in terms of heat they’re
anything but lowly.

The very air that wafts aloft
each brightly-burning spark,
arises from the embers
glinting quietly in the dark.