Serenades from the radio are sent

But other times offers me advice

The car’s warmth blows from the vents

But also the solitude implies

The confinement is not my prison

Rather a box where my thoughts brew

Nostalgia from the leather seats is risen

A place to wrestle life’s clues

The wipers rhythmically sway

The street lights twinkle away

It’s a hideout I beget

My thoughts reminisce and regret

Life‘s adventures and troubles through which I comb

All along the many paths of my ride home

Please subscribe to keep reading.