To the Coming End, My Friend and I

Written by: Kyle Maples

A day once clear and warm has changed; 
The sky is dark.
Beneath the storm, my friend and I;
We glide down Park.
Through half bare trees, a cold wind blows,
Dead leaves flit by.
We ride bikes down Park Avenue,
My friend and I.


The half bare trees curve overhead, 
the street is straight;
A tunnel made of branches and
Impending fate. 
A tunnel toward eternity,
Forward it lies.
We ride bikes through the dark tunnel,
My friend and I. 


Straight forward is the tunnel laid,
Toward death's call.
Our wheels spin like the loosened leaves,
Like dead leaves fall.
We pedal through the afternoon,
Beneath dark skies.
We ride bikes in the dying light,
My friend and I. 


The dying light casts thick shadows,
Obscures our goal.
To fateful ends, we ride our bikes,
Carry our souls.
Approaching dark, we mutter our
Future goodbyes. 
We ride bikes to the coming end,
My friend and I. 


We ride bikes down Park Avenue,
We ride bikes through the dark tunnel,
We ride bikes in dying light,
My friend and I. 


We ride bikes to the coming end,
My friend and I.