Like the wheels on my first tricycle
I am broken
Used and worn as my rustic soul sits
Beside the growing weeds
At my parents house
I watch you waste away over the years
Growing tired
Blood red peels from your core
Scattered around for all to see
Maybe one day I'll return
To find you've moved on
From those sun striken rays
Pumbling your existence
And hopefully it gives me the strength
To move foreward as well
And understand that the past
So beautiful and joyous to the senses
But Nothing will put me on the wheels
Of that lonesome bike ever again