Empty of its audience, red, plush velvet seats;

Sorrowful, in mourning.

No more echoes of applause,

the opening of a grandeur curtain,

Just a ghostly appearance,

Breathing in the past.

Dusty stage lights,

Cobwebbed orchestra,

Costumes bleeding out their vibrany; silently decaying.

What do you call a stage

without a captivating drama?

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MOTION

Here he comes the fury beast

riding thru the wind

Thighs are beating

as is his heart

Excitement from the very start

He lives for motion

fast and free

Don't hold on to me

is his plea...

---

PEDDLING

On goes his cap

then his helmet

He steps on his pedals

getting ready to run

Winding and winding

the wheels go

Sweat pouring 

from his soul...

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