Nowhere to Run, Everywhere to Hide

Philippe de Champaigne, “Vanité,” 1660s

Time has run and so have you.

“To what?” is the question.

The answer, you never knew.

A status?

If so, what peculiar taste,

For who will respect a decaying face?

A place?

If so, how strange, indeed,

that there a body you mustn’t need.

An age?

If so, please tell me the hour.

What once was fresh has now grown sour.

A number?

If so, I’d like to know,

How many obols to make Cheron row?

A feeling?

If so, what masochism is this

That death throes bring such grotesque bliss?

Time has ran but not like you.

“To whom?” is the question.

I answer, the King of the Jews.

Philippians 3:12-16

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained.”

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