They ask why we ride.
The constant reminder that we should've died.
We ride for our thrill.
Always aiming for the curving hill.
We ride to build our comfort.
Asking and praying to miss the dirt.
We ride to relieve ourselves from the troubles of this world.
We live for the road that's deeply curled.
We ride to be happy.
We ride because our day was crappy.
We ride for no destination.
We ride as a nation.
The times we made mistakes.
We knew all the stakes.
The turns we failed to make.
We dust off with a shake.
We ride to win.
Because thrill seeking is a sin.
And what better way to love harder, then realizing...
You might not make it home again.
We ride in the most alert manner.
We ride under a certain banner.
Feel free to ask us why we ride.
Just know our stories, young or old, never died.
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Author:
Hidden Poet (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2020 01:38
- Comment from author about the poem: I ride everyday. To and from work to the next state line. If I\\\'m not riding around to relieve stress, I\\\'m riding because I made a new playlist. I love riding a motorcycle. And I hope I never have to drive with four wheels ever again.
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses
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