An ode to descents
If the war in ascent is one of attrition,
descending is a high wire act.
Not a fight but a dance, this mission,
to gravity's tune, no missteps, be exact.
Brave fingers, give levers no kiss,
determined head tuck low.
Wide eyes, be blind to adjacent abyss,
racing mind thy calculations slow.
Into viscous wind fling bodies
unarmoured to tarmac's teeth.
On vicious tempered tyres lean over
precipice and the fear that lies beneath.
Thrills sought and found,
inexplicable the need.
Great conqueror art thou,
when Garmin shows a new top speed.
by Jamie Wilkins