Driving High on a Living Road

Reads: 496  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Hey everyone! This is based on a story someone told me about someone getting high and then going on a drive, and I decided to write a poem about it. The person in question passed away after hitting a tree while he was still high.

Submitted: November 17, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 17, 2010

A A A

A A A


Driving High on a Living Road

My feet numb from the moist air Blowing onto them, Fur shoes tickling the soles of my feet, The road opening up before me, bigger, Calmer, longer, Excruciating to the bloodshot eyes I see them with. My hands grasp the knives on the steering wheel While my headrest grips my hair, Making me beg for life before the joint, Before I drove into the woods, Back to my house with my family and Playstation and dog Where people cared about me, Until my mouth falls agape in wonder-

And the easiest part was accepting What had changed the road was Beyond my influence. Is it only a road when the Vast expanse of starlight, mixed with Romantic shades of black, And the air behind you is rewarded With the music of red, gold, orange, and black, Flowing with you, instead of against you? I forget when music was sound.

While the montage of life, with its millions of Untrustworthy houses, broken trees, Splattered corpses and cats, Morning dew and street lamps, Stroll by in a straightened pattern, One that's more identifiable than before, Where the pieces fit together Instead of having every edge at war? Who needs home when I have this unearthly feeling I forget when the pieces didn't fit.

I drive up a hill, The road overpowering the Control over my body. Can I still call this a road when it has the power To move me to weep, To move mountains, To move my hands and feet and heart, And force me to watch the moon appear From behind my own previous vision? I forget the passion of Spring.

And as the empty road before me Shines with the oil of wasted tears, Blood, and rain, I can't help but ask Who am I to be here? Who am I to feel like I can trust this road, If it waves, dips, turns, curves, Lives, dies, loves, hates, Flowing with the knowledge of a man? The road becomes illuminated by the moon, And I forget the glare of the sun.

The road slowly draws a smile on my face With the dripping paint of autumn, As I forget what it's like to frown. I turn a corner slowly, sweating. The fluorescent paint falls down my chest, Back, mouth. And my eyes, searching the bright path which I trust will lend me its beauty, feel myself Laughing at my snow globe mind From before the road took over. I hope this never ends.

I forget that I am driving. I allow the road to take advantage of me, Control me, sweep me through this world More vivid and alive than before I smoked this joint. And I forget that I need to drive myself.

I come up to a sharp corner, And the road jumps up victoriously, Throwing itself into the car with me. It whispers into my ear How I was not worthy to stay there. The road screams in promise and My body speaks of pain, As I forget which way is home And remember why it matters.

-Paul


© Copyright 2020 hockeyguy. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments