Pomegranate Words

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Two runners race
Across a starry sky.
The pace quickens,
As they race against time.
Passing by books, blood, super novas,
On a heated trail of stars,
Stepping into the same pace,
Binded with hate.
Not so different in face,
Nor in what their soul reflects.
The world drags behind them,
Tired hands clench together.
Each step leaving an imprint
On the clear navy sky.
Passing through shards of glassy stares,
And the rainy weather.
One runner crosses
The red finish line.
Which runner was it?
I think it was a tie.

by Aryel Heller, 15, Fair Lawn, New Jersey

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