The Shadow

A road unwinds

Through the rugged town

The silent kinds;

Engines revving – the silence broken;

Burning tires, a taste of fame

The dusty engine  smells the same.

Wheels roll and the race begins.

A race to the finish;

A tight curve and a slippery slope

Ups and downs with a sip of dope

Metals scratch, bumpers thrash

The paint and vinyl now thinnish.

The smell of gasoline and nitro meth,

A step on gas and a scent of death;

Nonetheless,

A broken engine, a busted tire,

Tells no tale of a gem of fire;

A carved wound, a scarred face,

Tells not his story,

Nor his strife.

Look for me not in the gilded case,

For I am not there.

Look for me not in the muddy grave,

For I am not there.

Look for me not in the heavens

And mourn;

For I am right here smiling,

Behind the wheels, revving the engine.

You don’t see me;

Am right here, steering     

Burning tires, a taste of fame

The dusty engine though smells the same.

                     

                     In memory of Paul Walker