Written on an immensely boring road trip to Nowhere In Particular.

the clouds above me weave into a seamless white sky,
a windy road settles straight
endless and eternal

there is no stop, no start
only a road
gray lands enveloping it
yellow and white lines marking it

the power lines slowly become distant as i watch them flutter
up and down

my window feels cold although it shows no sign of snow
the wind sways my car and i
and when we fail to leave the path
it gives up
the wind whishing away
yet the cold does not falter

the turns make me sick and weak
but seeing the straight road ahead lights a flame of hope in my heart
although it starts ever so small
it grows

all will be better
all will be well
if i keep driving