Metzeler Handle
Tonight my thought returns to you;
transforming torque to motion;
a rider has another option,
to wait for new horizon's blue.
Upon slope's dark I shall vision,
the solitude of my lone hope,
the bike ascends on bold iced slope,
a scope of mind becomes incision.
Thus smiles of noons and dithered light,
confronting dark turn to my ail,
but joy is my speeding on trail,
where my apparitions hold tight.
Our story spreads, misty in air,
and is in front of stardom haze,
the rain reflests on a cold phase,
Suzuki steel block hollers blare.
And I observe a star that blinks,
road's ice piles in mind's stock answer,
an' wanders high, a ghost dancer,
infinity's railroad cold brinks.
So, I shall think of you scented,
again bend on my bike's black saddle,
thousand cubic-Metzeler handle,
raven blossom on skies sainted.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.