His legs were pedaling hard and his heart was beating fast,
He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past,
Down the hill he goes, wind whipped his hair, a new style with each draft.
He broke his brakes long ago; He cut the cable and ripped off the pads.
He cried songs of joy and love as the world became a blur,
He learned to balance his weight; He finally learned to let go,
He would return the car's embrace, but the horn was all he heard.
He learned to lie to everyone; His grin was just for show.
He thought he heard church bells ring as he felt the rising lightness,
His inner demon took control; He said it was the form of a cyclist.
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Small poem off the top of my head. I didn't do what I set to do, but I said what I wanted to say.
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He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past. *
"I didn't do what I set to do, but I said what I wanted to say."
The reprieve and salvation of art.
That is quite inspirational, Eddie. Thank you!
Hey, dude.
*you* said it...
;-)
I love the speed in this. *
Thank you, Matthew! I'm glad you do.
Well done and more than a little intricate.*
Thank you, good sir!