THE REASON
You sit behind the handlebars,
while the engine plays it’s tune,
you ride by soul, more than touch,
as if guided by some acient rune.
You think, as we all have,
you look within as you ride,
without thinking about it,
without thought for pride,
for true bikers dont ride for glory,
or for the rewards of men,
but for the simple joy of riding,
That’s not a what, it’s a when.
Like the tale of man an machine,
growing together old,
Something not understood,
by those not of our fold.
Or the joy of building,
a new ride and friend,
that will be ridden,
until the end,
of life or of the road,
for in this life we chose,
there is not a lot of difference,
between the two of those.
Preacher, 5/2004