On the move, in a four wheeled refuge
In acceleration, of this predilection.
Surpassing silently, frail instincts
Sweet antidote, veiled inebriation.

Light empty pockets, glasses brimful
Eager gazes, need no music to hear.
Wistful discourse, beneath push and pull
Love lost to pride, faith to fear.

Passengers no more; strangers retreat
Wiser, they slowed, not crashing instead.
Choked their throats, they laughed and cried
Strange and Beautiful, all in one breath.

 

This poem was originally published in MediumLink

Image credits: Andrea WanLink