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Open Poetry #43
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Newpoet
Member
since 2008-05-16
Posts 72


0 posted 2008-11-24 04:12 PM


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.


© Copyright 2008 Newpoet - All Rights Reserved
nakdthoughts
Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200
Between the Lines
1 posted 2008-11-24 05:26 PM


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

Margherita
Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236
Eternity
2 posted 2008-11-24 06:01 PM


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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