Poetry By Chuck



Why is it when I ride
I must fly
What demon grabs my heart
Why does the need
grow for speed
and where will
I come to a stop
Each time I fly
I know my time passes by
and the need
causes me to hurry
my stead
It's like a curse
or something worse
an Adrenalin Junkie
hooked on speed
There are places I've not seen
but then who is lookin'
I ride not for them
but for the grip twistin'
I can feel my heart
beat like a piston
but, my eyes are fixed
on the near horizon
My judgement must be
absolutely correct
as the time to adjust
will only result in regret
At speeds above 100
there is no outlet

Except the grave

Am I crazy or brave

All I know is that dime
spins as it twists
and my bike can't turn
around twisties like it
Yet, I try
to find that perfect ride
and in the meantime
I fly
I ride
So High

Damn, I love it