Another Ride

Rollin out at Four something in the morning
Woken by a brother who hasn’t had the benefit
Of the three hours sleep I had
Cup of black and a shot of whatever
A bag of aspirin that’ll get you revving

Showered the other day so that ain’t bad
Jeans rock hard from the road and oil
Armored in leather, silver, buckles and chains
Sometimes feels like a thousand pounds of gear
Like the knights of old, armored up

To take chase on pretty mounted steeds
Chromed, raked, stretched, blown, sleds, fast
Colorful banners and flags flying about them
They are polished, clean, monsters waiting
Waiting only to be fired up and let loose

Barely held down upon blackened pavement
By those that straddle them down
Those that rise to meet the road first prepare
Prepare to leave this stop not to return
Finding the freedom of the road exhilarating

One can dull any ill by way of the road
It hums, speaks to you, flowing like life blood
Pumping the heart and soul as one
Clearing the mind, all the bad is blown clear
Either in a group or as a loner , it cleanses

What is a Biker, the urge to ride, some would say
“If I have to explain it, you wouldn’t understand”.
I would say it’s the kind of man that knows himself
Can stand on his own, win or lose, keeping dignity
One that doesn’t know nobody, and has been no where

But of the Poet Biker, I say he rides on…………..