The Ride

To Whom It May Concern,

Now or never:

In the O four hundredth hour.

It seems: dark shadows like ghosts

Running away where we drive ahead

Engines roaring in the lonely atmosphere

Heart pumping; hands shaking.

But now, sound of notes echoing

Losing sight of the highway ahead.

Blocking out the finite things

That wreck the soul.

Like a frostbite leaving nothing but emptiness.

Or it seems: Drowning in a whirlpool,

With an outstretched hand yet nothing on the other end.

If now, I were to unplug;

Doomed to be last.

No! How can I tread this earth

Without leaving my mark.

I must.

But how? For immobile I am.

Cold blood circulating rigorously,

But I knew - in the O four hundredth hour:

It was now or never. 

Sincerely,

The Girl in the Corner