They're always rushing to finish the puzzle,
to fit all the pieces in place.
Little knowing that beyond completion lays the end.
The end.
No more.
None.
Natta.
Nothing.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
The finally.
All that is nothingness shal come of their baout.
Yet they continue on with out any feelings of dought.
'So what is to come if we change our way,
nothingness is glum but it's still something' they say.
So they continue on, forever fast-pace,
until they are gone,
they've finished the race.
S.I.M.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/checkered-flag/
