PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I hear that Devil's train

Hot on my heels

Come to collect, I suspect

What he thinks he owns

Time is short

But I've got some left

So I'll burn it up

And blow it in his face

Here and gone

Like cigarette smoke

Rush to my head

Speed to my death

Neon past lighting my way

But I can't see whats in front of me

Walking down the path ahead

Red hand in my pocket

Death, in my thoughts,

Is racing to a stoplight

But unlike others

Red means speed up to me

I'll live long after I'm dead

That you can count on

Long after I'm gone

I'll still be around