On Riding a Bicycle
The whole idea of it makes me jittery,
Like I am about to go on a space mission to Mars.
The whole idea of having an entirely new field of opportunities,
A whole new way to get around,
A whole new speed.
You tell me that I can't go fast,
But who can hold back the wind?
Who has the power to halt a storm?
Now I can control pure speed.
Pure, white speed, flashing from my bicycle,
Coursing and flowing through my veins.
I become one with the machine,
Its power is mine, our abilities mesh and fuse.
But now, away from my bike,
I am weak. Like a baby away from its mother,
I feel the absolute helplessness of being alone.
I am incomplete, vulnerable, a child.
I long to return to the freedom, the light.
I get up, and walk to my bicycle.
This is the beginning of pure thrill.
I whisper to my bike,
Run my hands along its frame.
It returns my greeting, happy that we are together once more.
As I step over the seat and grip the handles,
My heart races as I remember.
Soon I will be there again, wind tearing past me,
My bike will be with me, once more complete.
It seems like I am flying.
I see clouds whipping past my head,
I reach up and touch the sun.
I am free.
Freedom rushes into my body with the wind.
I am free.
I pedal on and on.
My bicycle and I are free.