Wheels of Time

Spring sun spills over asphalt lanes,

a neighbor glides by, free of chains.

Their laughter sails on the breeze like a song,

while I sit anchored, where I don’t belong.

In the corner, a bicycle rests,

dusted memories, forgotten quests.

Rust whispers tales of roads never taken,

a flat tire spins dreams, like hearts that are shaken.

I reach for the handlebars, feel the grip,

the pull of adventure, the thrill of the trip.

Yet here I am, watching the world rush,

while my thoughts are caught in a muted hush.