THE SPIRIT OF MAN

The runner ran in the darkness of the jungle, with black night and silver stars above, with the tribal drums beating his passage in acknowledgement. He was carrying the burning torch of hope in his hand, as he ran on with pace and speed through the jungle, his foot beats echoing the hope of freedom. He was carrying a message from the King. A message of conflict and of war. Of unity and the defence of the crown. Of the survival of the people and the tribe. He ran on with pace and determination, with an even breath and a strong heart, and his legs were solid and firm in the run of the night of survival. He ran on like generations of runners before him, carrying a message of hope and life. An eternal symbol of strength, unity and freedom. A man for the King, the people and the task. And when at last he reached his relay point, tired and exhausted, he passed the torch and the vital message on to the next runner, to spread the word of freedom throughout the kingdom. His task was done, and the next runner in the race for time and survival took up the torch of life from him, and ran on through the dark, starry night. The runner and the race endures forever, to the beating of the tribal drums in the darkness, in the eternal footfall and motion of love, hope and faith.