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Open Poetry #43
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Traffic.
| Open Poetry #43 |
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Traffic. |
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Newpoet Member
since 2008-05-16
Posts 72 |
I’m propelling down twisted hallways, with low-beams glowing, Metallic sheep race in panic; raging horns and squealing tires. I’m slumped in my ever-closing box, surrounded by diesel demons and black smoke, I’m suffocating in a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust, The liquid release from these darkening heavens, patters against my dormant shell, burning a rhythm on my paranoia. I squint through aging orbs, seeking beyond fog and rain; It’s hard to see anything, except hands, gripped on the wheel. Finally, a dim light begins moving forward, And a smirk slowly reveals itself, as I glide between yellow lines, I turn-up the volume and raise my voice in glee. |
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
except for the smog, I can agree with this .. I can never figure out why the fast lane of traffic crawls or is at a standstill... M |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
You did a good job here. Fog on the road can really be frightening. Besides that, personally I enjoy the peace reigning in my car, even in midst of traffic. Love, Margherita |
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