The Trip

The Trip

The car keeps moving,
Like the hours in the clock.
And then there’s a bump,
It’s the road’s way to mock.
I cannot stop this car
To a destination must arrive.
Up and down like a Sprinter,
That’s ready to take a dive.
Suddenly, smoothness at last.
But nothing is everlasting,
And that’s a proven fact.
So, why do I keep ranting?
I believe I just arrived.
I just finished my ride.
The car soon turned around
As I swiftly grinned and died.
But all the rides continue.
The road gets never fixed.
And all the good passengers
To the handles strongly affix,
Hoping for less pain before the ending hit.

Copyright© 2009


About B. Meza

Writing is liberating.
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