Transmutation

I had always run like a storm

crackling with anger

fueled by thundering defiance at the world

a five-kilometer point to be hammered home.

I had always run like an engine

anxiety the stuttering starter

frustration condensing and igniting each step

with mechanical, discontent purpose.

I hadn't expected it,

when that final stretch of that final race

broke the thunderheads on a clear sky

and melted all the engine's parts

into a tide of pure joy.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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