The Pumping
Engine in my bike and engine in the glands
adrenalin pumping into mortal wonderlands
and the crowds cheering as I mount up to ride
my guts all knotted up and churning inside
snaky road up ahead and Grim Reaper waiting
when I round the first bend with my inside shaking
sweet smell of liquid dynamite fills my nostrils
in gilded gardens of death with all the frills
rivers bending their banks with their heavy power
their persistent pounding every minute every hour
running into my spirit as I look at the road ahead
staying with me until I finish alive or dead
racing with me as I race around the devil’s course
infernal curves, snaky turns, transcendent force
the power of death matched up with my mortal spirit
my insides grinding and pushing bit by bit
my internal engine at the speed of my bike
up to the max and then out of sight
angel of death with me around the first turn
taking me home as I crash and burn
my pumping abated and my pace slowing down
my last breath breathed with heaven all around
my racing up into the sky is my final race
with all the other racers resting in God’s grace
I got the idea for this poem from watching the motorcycle races in the Isle of Mann on the TV. I never rode one myself.
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