i have something to say
which may seem odd
but the way i live
has become a facade
it is eleven years now
i have been in a fight
for within my body
i battle a blight
so i put on my mask
my helmet, my gloves
get on my bike
my language of love
no one can see
what i carry inside
when i am on my bike
my soul just glides
but truth be told…
it is not just escape
it is the only place
i recognize my shape
because off of that saddle
in the stillness… i know
there are places within me
i try not to go
rooms filled with whispers
i cannot outrun
echoes that linger
when the riding is done
i have stared at the ceiling
counting each breath
feeling the weight
of a phrase… “close to death”
and somewhere between
acceptance and fear
i learned how to live
with the end always near
so i ride…
not to forget
but to remember me whole
not the illness that lingers
but the strength in my soul
each mile is a statement
each turn, a decree
that this “walking dead man”
is still wildly… free
the wind strips me bare
no pretending out there
no need for the fake
when the truth fills the air
and if one day i falter
and cannot go on
let it be said—
i was already gone…
but not in the way
that they whispered that day
i was gone into living
in my own sacred way
**and when the road ends
as all roads must do
don’t search for my shadow—
i’ve left it with you
in the rhythm of breath
in the turning of wheels
in the quiet between
what is spoken… and feels
i was never the body
they feared would decay—
i was every last mile
that refused to give way.**
peace and blessings!
