WHAT OF ME

the car seemed in constant motion moving fast as
the world outside was all but passing by in a blur

what of me in this world the lonely, caught up
lost it seems to be spun on an axis out of control

so put me in the driver seat, for i know how
its the words stuck between teeth and tongue

even if i speak clearly, aloud enunciating words on paper
they are sure to be lost, left to the abyss, stagnant still

we are all here for such a short time, as i take notes the
writing is on the wall in cursive or print will it survive

i want to wake up on this ride that has me so tired
always searching down the endlessness of avenues

so as i pull the car slowly to the dirt road side noticing the
vastness of the night sky its purple crimson  bruises  intact

i remark to myself, as i get out to stretch my legs anticipating
i am the last of a dying breed, a lost writer in search of a story

By Michael Perry