Scraped Palms

I've been running in circles,
But I can't seem to break the pattern. 
I grow tired of the scenery,
Yet I can't peel my eyes away.
In a moment of distraction,
I lose my footing,
And my palms are scraped from breaking my fall.
I consider remaining on the ground
And taking a break from it all.
Then I realize how counterproductive that would be.
Do I really want to sit in the midst of that which I am trying to escape?
No.
I pick myself up
And continue on.
I brush off my hands
And have to realize that my wounds will not heal immediately. 
I lift my eyes
In hopes of finding a new path in front of me,
Knowing it will come it due time.
While this circular path is growing old, and a bit tiresome,
I still notice new things each time around.
The scrapes on my hands sting.
My lungs burn with every breath,
And my feet pound with every step.
As I push on,
My mind and body are learning endurance, if nothing else.
Endurance and perseverance.