Lines and lines of cars move nowhere
tempers flare, boxed in, horns blare
appointments fester in my mind
hands clamped on wheel,
like talons on prey.
I crave, I need, I must have space.
Foot to brake, pump and pump again
peck my way, inch by inch
peer through smog and fumes
find a seam, create a crack
desperately seeking blue.
I crave, I need, I lust for air.
What if I quit?
Leave it all behind.
Try new wings, not a migratory line.
Free form, to soar, to find
real, life affirming air.
I can, I should, I will.
lillian the home poet 
I love this! You will!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Amen!! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t remember “road rage” ever being summed so gorgeously. Though I don’t think the poetess is full on raging – I sense more tremendous frustration and a deeper reflection as a result 🙂
I admit here (shh, don’t tell anyone) my anger flows up quickly when behind the wheel and I must constantly practice patience (I have a bit of my dad’s temper in situations as these). One of the visualizations I practice, is mind traveling elsewhere – and that travel sometimes turns into more solid thoughts of “getting the hell outta Dodge.”
Lovely piece, perfect words.
am:)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah AM, I always love your replies!
LikeLike
🙂 that’s terrific ’cause I adore your writing
LikeLiked by 1 person
PS: just finished housecleaning to MoTown and now settling back with Ms Char Donnay and Carole King 😊
LikeLike
I’m merloting ‘write’ now and listening to Broadway’s version of, Beauty and the Beast. I know, I’m such a nerd. Carol King is lovely 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t think that anyone could have stated it any more eloquent.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are so kind! Tipping my first cup of coffee to you this grey morning in Boston……it’s a “make-your-own-sunshine” kind of day 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person