Thirty Six Hundred Seconds

And the legs pump against the peddles,
and the arms drip the droplet of perspiration,
and the bottom tries to stay from getting numb
while sitting on that hard rubber exercise bike seat.

But my mind is off on a cloud,
listening to melodious dreams on my walkman,
when I am truly lost in its sounds
the bicycle, the gym and the world
slip into a fantasy envelope
where I kept those toys
from my quill play house.

For thirty six hundred seconds
I am not tired and aged,
not in debt and at a dead end job,
my home life isn’t a graveyard
or my future covered in mourner’s silk.

Instead I have wings and am still twenty one
all around me only sky appears
it is cool and serene
far from that sweat chasm of reality
that chains my brain to facts and details
reminding I’m mortal and marred.

So I fly above the tangles in my day,
above the tears, pains and pangs,
let my sanity lie on a cloud pillow
finding peace from all the stabs of despair,
which otherwise might nip at my joy.