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It's just Another Test

Updated on September 13, 2013

It’s Just Another Test

The thermometer says,

It’s one of those days.

There will be little comfort,

From a shy sun’s rays.


I can hear a soft call,

To venture out,

And being alive,

Means to remove all doubt.


The Old Toll Road? Elk Mountain?

Craggy Gardens? Caesar’s Head?

Are they calling for more grit?

Or “bring out your dead”?


From Wayah Bald,

To beyond Winter Green,

The tarmac, my tires, my thoughts,

Are solid and clean.


The frozen icy dust,

Joins more frigid air,

Making wire bristles,

Of all facial hair.


Living large on the edge,

Requires opening the throttle.

And drinking popsicles,

From a frozen water bottle.


And through these foggy cobwebs,

I still see,

Other frozen cyclists,

Frozen solid just like me.


It’s a cold burn on the face,

The hands, toes, the knees.

The lungs sort out the crystals,

The heart refuses to freeze.


Perhaps near Beauty Spot,

On Iron Mountain or Carver’s Gap,

I could take in some carbs,

While thinking about a nap.


But now the softest voice,

Is suggesting a bit of rest.

“Go back to sleep, my love,

It’s just another test.”



~Micky Dee~



One Day And A Wake-up

Is there life after death and taxes?

Is there any reason to continue?

Could there be another world?

Are is it the same old venue?


Do I ever cross your mind?

You type on a keyboard just like mine.

Have you missed me at all?

I’d just like to see you drink a glass of wine.


I’m just here trying to see,

If there is life inside of me.

It puzzles me. I grasp at straws.

I tried to be all the man I could be.


There’s just a coldness now.

There’s nobody now, to miss me.

Nobody now to hold my arm, my hand, my head.

Nobody to ever kiss me.


It all came full circle.

Time has eroded all my ambitions.

All of my aims and desires,

Have come to no fruition.


So take the blood from my veins.

So take the air from my chest.

Take the sound and visions.

Take my dreams of love and all the rest.


It’s five o’clock somewhere.

There’s joy somewhere.

The world calls me out once more,

To only reiterate that there is no-one to care.


It’s just more ridicule to entertain the inane.

Is there not another position to sequester?

The multitude speaks cold and trite.

After all, I’m just the court jester.


~Micky Dee~




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    • Dim Flaxenwick profile image

      Dim Flaxenwick 4 years ago from Great Britain

      Your poetry is awesome, yet you sound so, so lonely.

      I guess the best poetry and the best country songs come out of a little sadness.

      Thanks for this great hub!!!