The Impulsive Type

Through the fields he ran on a sunny day
Through the woods he jogged along his weary way
Toward the battle line he charged straight into the fray
They say he was the impulsive type

It never occurred to him to factor his momentum
There was no time to think of anything
For the plunge was everything
Yes the plunge was everything
The act of acceleration, blunt force trauma, max velocity

He was poetry in motion
Or a blur if you werеn't paying attention
There arеn't many left of his kind
We'll just wait at the finish line
Though he's likely not to stop
No he's likely not to stop

Through the fields he ran on a sunny day
They say he is the impulsive type
He plunged like a bayonet into life's yielding flesh
"Full steam ahead" the cliched mantra of his kind
They erupt with speed but they burn out fast

As gravity prevails
They're slowing down, all grows quiet
No Homeric-hymn for this Hermes
His deeds too few to reckon