Drive |
| by Damien Miles-Paulson |
My chest feels like collapsing,
too much weight falling down on it,
so much to say.
But my still lips say nothing,
they want to scream,
to you.
My hand is slow,
and scurries to write,
while my mind wanders.
I drove around tonight,
detached from the road,
I drove without thought,
I was elsewhere.
I passed myself at every corner,
and saw who I was.
At one corner,
there I was, standing, with her.
I remember who I was then,
not myself.
But is that what love is,
compromising some of your heart,
to hold a piece of theirs,
can you or I, find that person,
the one who sees you naked, all of you.
The great things, the things you hide under your clothes.
So this question, to your sleeping ears, I want to ask.
Next block,
there I was again,
alone.
I looked happy enough,
but a piece was missing,
my smile.
In my life, I’ve never failed,
games have been lost,
people too, never failures.
But what have I tried,
when have I put my head under the ax,
never.
With all I have, the things people say I have,
what have I tried,
nothing.
Success would be great,
but like a child at his first piano recital,
I’m so afraid of failing.
So I set my goals low, the lowest,
then even my hands, often clumsy,
could hold onto success.
This needs to change,
I can’t do it alone, though I’ve done everything alone,
fought all my battles in my head,
no more.
Pride can drop like my pants,
fear of truth, and speaking this truth must be beaten,
please help.
Another left turn,
green lights in front of me,
like a red carpet.
The night around me is swallowed by the day,
the sun shines,
and under a clear sky,
big drops of rain fall on my face.
I see me,
lost in life's warm embrace.
Wet to the soul,
rain, like waterfalls, streams down my face,
over my unblinking eyes,
dripping off my nose, onto my shirt,
into my mouth.
Dry lips become wet,
a straight face gives way to a smile.
The light turns red, my car stops,
my eyes recognize what is so clear,
this is me today,
happy for the hell of it.
Untouched by tears or sadness,
happy with every breath,
at peace with himself,
even though perfection is far,
like the end of the stars.
The light won’t change,
good,
I like it here.
Keys turn, the car quiets,
I step out,
and crawl into myself, to see things more clearly.
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(c) 1999 Damien Miles-Paulson Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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