Do not take your hands from the steering wheel and let it drift into unkept edges of city streets.
Make haste! Make speed, good man! Towards dotted lines of hope we must spare no time in pursuing!
But, mind your thoughts as you swerve here and there. Remember precious and delicate matters at hand.
Remember the gambling stone that sits atop at lookout point; sunsets and cityscapes that sweep the horizon so.
Can it mean it is so? Can the limits thrive against the collapsing opportunities of hope thrusting inside my veins?
I should think as you call out my name and shatter my silence that even in the darkest of hours hope should be flung.
Despise my bated breath as non-committal silence that burns down the doors of unturned and untrue thought.
I am a so-called warrior. I am a fenced in guardian. I am a dotted line on the roads to freedom.
I am an invisible sanctity on the lonely island of hope hidden far away from human consumption.
A straightened arrow in the land of many signs, sugar coating fantasy with bikinis and high rise-high cut jean shorts.
Count down my passions as we speed into the night; top down and music shedding our inhibitions like a Friday night shakedown.