Highway
The highway at night is like some limbo.
The cars are phantoms moving ever onward.
The headlights are the eyes of wayward souls.
The vortex of air rushes past me.
It sounds so empty, so vast.
I speed up.
The drive becomes my high.
I am flying on a concrete atmosphere.
This night is everlasting darkness,
And the steel ghosts flow through it.
They continue home,
Thinking that will make everything okay.
But they will want the highway again.
The longing overtakes our dreams,
The desire to fly like shadows after dusk,
To be nothing but riders on ebony.
The sight of bright concrete is too much to fathom.
It seems to go on forever.
I am tired and I cannot stay awake.
I fall into a dream void.
And I feel so good.
Cars come on the highway and then they get off,
But the highway is always there.
© 2024 Quincy Dominic White