The Treadmill Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

Slowing down the motor,
running low on gas

The lies, the HOV lane,
the truth off in the grass

The speed counterproductive,
it warps and then transforms

The magic in the stillness,
the beauty heaven born

The light becomes a blurring,
as darkness settles in

Till stepping off the madness,
and travelling within

That fatal rush to judgment,
a quiet now sustains

One choice to stop the treadmill,
—all motion rearranged

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February,2017)