Sitting lonesome at the wheel
By my side the only one
Who ever tried to understand,
So many thoughts afloat,
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

Picking of strings float to my ears,
I can hear it but I'm not listening,
Thoughts drifting from place to place,
How I long to let it fall away
And be cleansed from what I have to say,
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

Before me is only what is lit
Behind is the dark that flows past
Not sure if I should say anything
There would not be much point anyway
Too many thoughts to say at once
The burden is great, near unbearable
Who is to know if that should ever change?
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

What is in front is all I can see
Nothing more and nothing less
It all comes to an end eventually
I before it, most likely
Always moving though the view never changes
A pair of lights approach and disappear
They always say the journey, not the destination
This journey is one what never ends
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

A soft glow form the corner of my w\eye
Renders the rest a dull grey
All the things that pass by
Once seen, never again
That's the way it is for everything
Here once, then gone forever
They do so little yet there are so many
Is there much point to it at all?
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

So now I am here in the dark
No longer moving and all is quiet
Sound that once was is now no more
Gives me clearance to ponder further
The seat to my side still feels warm
Where there was once compassion
Never will the words ever be heard
With me now they go, forever more
And so many words to be said that need saying
So many words

Should I just drift into the path of some oncoming lights?

Has that ever been known to make anything right?

Is it everything I imagined it would be?

Is it what's missing from my days?

Is it the cure to all my strife?

Is it my last chance?

Still.

Frozen.

Paralysed.

Nothing here, nothing there.

Nothing before, nothing behind.

No future. No past.

Nothing.

But the wailing and the pounding. The smoke and the haze. The colours and the lights.

And you.

Don't make me drag myself back from the plains

A bed of thorns is a bed nonetheless

I miss

I had to pull over on the side of the highway to cry at 11 o'clock in the morning today.

This isn't even a poem I'm just writing to clear my head.

Why shouldn't the tide pull back as it does
And why shouldn't it drag me off to sea
To float once again amongst the salt and weeds
Another reminder that what is to be will be

Am I not meant to climb aboard the ark
And have you finally teach me how to float
How long until I find you waiting there
How long until you help me on the boat

When you may as well be light-years apart?

When it may not turn out the way you'd hope?

You can't see everything. You can't hear everything.

I am not a doctor.

But I've never wanted to cure someone so badly.

When you can't lay it all out because you'll bring about yet another apocalypse.

What's another attempt to save somebody's world?

Standing withered and worn.

Braving the ash and the dust.

Holding out a hand.

No thorns. No petals. Just a hand, tried and true.

Take it?

Who knows, we may both be saved.