The Ride
To Whom It May Concern,
Now or never:
In the O four hundredth hour.
It seems: dark shadows like ghosts
Running away where we drive ahead
Engines roaring in the lonely atmosphere
Heart pumping; hands shaking.
But now, sound of notes echoing
Losing sight of the highway ahead.
Blocking out the finite things
That wreck the soul.
Like a frostbite leaving nothing but emptiness.
Or it seems: Drowning in a whirlpool,
With an outstretched hand yet nothing on the other end.
If now, I were to unplug;
Doomed to be last.
No! How can I tread this earth
Without leaving my mark.
I must.
But how? For immobile I am.
Cold blood circulating rigorously,
But I knew - in the O four hundredth hour:
It was now or never.
Sincerely,
The Girl in the Corner