The car hums like a loyal confidant,
windows rolled down to let landscapes breathe.
Clouds stretch across open skies, unfolding stories.
The road, a ribbon unraveling toward somewhere—
or nowhere. Doesn't matter, really, does it?
Out here, silence isn’t empty, but fluent.
Each mile marker whispers a little louder;
you belong to yourself before anything else.
The mountains don’t keep score,
the rivers never interrupt,
and the wind doesn’t ask questions.
You are the only one mapping this truth.
I lose the person I’m expected to be,
find the one who’s been waiting,
tugging at my sleeve, saying softly:
don’t forget me in the noise.
Every turn of the wheel is a decision,
every stretch of horizon pulls me inward.
I touch the pulse of my own life,
stay in sync with the beating heart of it.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 9th, 2026 09:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments3
In the process of this trip one must focus for the turns in the road well done
Thank You Soren
Most welcome
much enjoyed friend
Thank You Norman
most welcome
Gorgeous. Sweetly rendered with a wealth of details and excellent imagery, its carefree poignancy waltzes. Thank you for sharing. I love it.
Thank You Missy for sharing your feedback
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