The Outlaw

Posted on January 24, 2012

The Outlaw

(I drove my motorbike to the sea)

I watched a dreamer by the sea
observe me,softly, haltingly,
His face was tired but not unkind
I sensed a windmill in his mind.

Alone upon the beach he stood
A member of the brotherhood
I saw the biker garb he wore
And knew I’d seen him once before.

Reflections from a dying wave
Shadows from the failing light
This was a man who once forgave
The angels of the restless night.

I heard him muse, but not to me
Some words that spoke most tellingly
That somehow he was trapped and caught
And reeling under scorching thought.

“This is a wistful day that peers
Uncertainly past many years
am I a Man or just a fraud
a pauper or a knighted Lord?

I’ve roared my Spirit down the road
I’ve kissed the Wind and drunk the cup
I love my Harley under load
I love the sound as gears change up.

A glimpse of Freedom on my bike
a thumping heart that’s almost whole
there’s really nothing just quite like
black leather on a tortured soul…”

I watched a dreamer by the sea
observe me, softly, haltingly,
His face was tired but not unkind
I sensed a windmill in his mind.

I am that pilgrim on the road
and Yes, I learned to lock and load,
just bring it on, my greatest ride
the meanest ever Dynaglide.

My Angel in this tainted deck
the Joker and his mocking grin
I told them both to go to heck
just shuffle well, and deal me in.

The season of my life and death
until I rattle my final breath
will pass behind in blurring rage
an entry on a crumpled page.

Riders of the perfect storm
just mock your pressure to conform.
To hell with all your stuffed up pride
We’re just some loners on a ride.

Why chase the buck and swarm like flies
but never ride the dream tossed skies?
Why elevate unending greed
into your only heart felt creed?

When summer’s done the flies go broke
your stocks and shares a puzzling joke
that puffed up sense of your own worth
gets shoveled under heaps of earth.

A glimpse of Freedom on my bike
a thumping heart that’s almost whole
there’s really nothing just quite like
black leather on a tortured soul.

I’ve journeyed through those never skies
I’ve seen the Light that never dies
I’ve heard that haunting, restless theme
I’ve dared to reach, and ask, and dream.

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on January 24, 2012, 10:58 pm


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