I wish I’d seen him in Fairmount
with a Stetson hat, blue jeans, and boots;
or with his collar turned up on a drizzly day,
before his fast life crashed through
the intersection
of folklore and fame.
.
Before his sleek silver Spyder
gripped him to death in its web,
and a thousand pounds of metal
disfigured his boyish smile.
.
I’ll bet those white lines on the road
resembled the seconds counting down:
until the ferocious thunderclap
of eternity.
.
He roared through life faster than
a silver Triumph motorcycle
through the streets of Indiana.
.
The Spyder is gone,
his high school is gone,
he’s gone.
.
Death replaced his lines,
and that wasn’t part of the script.
You gotta be talking about James Dean. Taken way too early.
It was a preventable tragedy. Getting too comfortable in a fast car isn’t good!
Fast cars and young men can be a death sentence if you are not cautious.
Yes, tragic unforeseeable events can always alter life if one is not careful.
“He’s gotta see us.” Dean’s last words.
Thank you adelly.
Beautiful tribute to James Dean. He loved speed, freedom, and the open road… his passion became both his muse and his undoing. He adored his Little Bastard, and though he burned bright and brief, his legend never slowed down. I like to imagine he’s still racing somewhere in eternity.
That’s a fun thought. Thank you, Romaj.
Powerfully penned, Tim. Excellent tribute my friend I liked this a lot. Appreciate you.
Damian
I’m glad you liked it, thank you, Damian.