The Driver’s Seat

The road looks long from way up here
The cars they rattle on in fear
With whizzing spinning burning lights
That take for granted stolen flights,
That leave behind a dullened darkness.
Trailing taillights beckon, harken
To lives we lived and pasts remembered,
Always trailing a cold September
When eyes that shined your soul inside
When eyes weren’t dimmed, weren’t brushed aside.

The driver checks his rearview mirror
For ghostly imprints; phantom seers
Shout loving, hateful memories
Of trailing thoughts of you and me.
The driver stares with borrowed eyes
To find the future you and I,
To see the dashes dashing by
A fervent light, a dying fly
Whose life was nothing more than mine.
The road presents no exit signs
To part from parts of life that fly
Through windows like the breezing sigh,
Entering front, exiting rear;
A fleeting, beating, tearing tear
That falls and washes to the sea.

The driver sees his passing triumphs and
Tribulations; armored speed bumps
Slow his wreckless breakneck speed
To let him ponder now, here.
The headlights show a road yet traveled,
The ghostly road behind him savored,
Adjusting seats and tasting flavors
That soothe the tongue and feed the mind
With flavors lost to more than time.

The driver lights a smoke and hauls,
Relaxing in his shallow pulls.
The smoke it trails past his past,
The light it shines to future’s last
Breath; he grips the trembling wheel
And steers to find that which is real
And finds it in a passing song
And knows that now lasts half as long.

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