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Golden Shadows
Golden shadows fall through spaces in trees.
AND I can hear the heartbeat of time in the breeze.
Steady and lulling.
Never sleeping.
Never ceasing.
My wheels roll
and my thoughts soften like tide. For it is in these golden shadows my soul will abide.
It is a silver lined story, this ellipse
of existing.
Of knowing.
Of loving.
I remember the many harmless nights before, where I became,
riding down
lanes that knew my name.
Imagining:
· All that could be
· All that had been
· And all that is
OH, quiet roads did you even know the time was lulling?
When everything kept:
· The stream kept running
· The crickets kept chattering
· The soft winds kept twisting
· Those canal-side poppies kept blowing
AND I kept coming back all these nights to roll down lanes that knew my name.
For this heart must drift to rivet.
And this mind must wonder to become implicit.
And it is poetry that the heartbeat of time stopped to hear mine when I inhaled that golden rhyme.
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Nearly every day for the past 10 years I've ridden my bike down the same roads when I have free time. I'm about to leave the house and begin my life, and lately on my bike rides I've been contemplating the past, the present and the future all in the course of the same sentence. This poetic story is about how I grew up on my bike, "rolling down lanes that knew my name."