passive passion is set to see
built from nails red from blood or rust
from the deft and bright sinks helplessly
but watched by those who care in disgust

gift from god a ticket away
handed by those aside the tracks
shovel, conduct, promise to repay
alone with people made out of wax

flapping and jumping all day long
read and remember how it’s done
even sing with arms someone’s proud song
to realize is what makes it fun

dreams from skill and effort end in thud:
if you water dirt you’ll just grow mud

   the bike of my youth was

brilliant

green

          regardless of where it was taken

   with pedals stout for legs

eager

stop

          to jump left from right around again

 

   now it is sleek and made

moving

fast

          granting newly tempted with fervor:

   it may pedal back though

cruelly

so

          as it hurls forward and further