A whistling in the air,

February 1, 2020

powerful, thirsty, compelling one to stare.

A shift of a gear, and away he flies,

a blur in one's eyes.

A scream of power, of love unseen,

as he rushes down the mountain ravine.

Speed limits behind, more speed ahead.

And that was the day, he woke up dead.

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

Comments are closed for this poem.