Marty

The road had risen to meet you and your two-wheeled weapon. With the wind at your back and the sun warm upon your stoic face, You watched from that mountain road the rain fall upon Colorado. It dripped from beneath the cloud below, As you spun down and around that fateful climb, Helmetless and headless, you sped through time on your once unbreakable bike. Backwards, you went, into your memories, Stolen and stored by priests inside their tabernacle pedophile prisons, Whose fingers on and in you had taken your childhood and its future. So as the road rose and the wind backed your twenty-seven year-young behind, The rain fell as you did from that motorcycle, and until we meet again, May Love hold you in the palm of its hand. Word count: 130