The road was long, far too much, and walking wasn’t easy at all
Yet while walking, I’d sit somewhere, lost in the spiral of my own fall
At times I’d run, but still be late, other times even walking felt like a crawl
Sometimes the rain smiled softly, other times the sun would scorch and brawl
Sometimes reaching brought conversation, other times silence cut sharp as a dart
Hands gripped tight around my neck, elsewhere a noose took its part
But there were evenings tender and calm, and pockets heavy with silent cries
Where someone was in a rush, and even time feared the ticking of the skies
How do I describe those mornings and dawns, from which this road remains green?
The racing car stands still, its destination unseen
It’s just a matter of climbing on, and in a few hours’ span...
This road has only begun, but this journey now comes to an end