The cars don’t touch the roads at night. They carry asphalt lullabies elsewhere, Past trembling puddle reflections Towards the serene starlit avenues That wind through endless waves of city lights.

Carefully tucked into terrycloth dreams And spoken in soft tones, Melodies are caressed and retired With a cautious sense of dewdrop renewal. Like ivy growing in rusted gutters, They are just biding time, Waiting for release From plastic prisons submerged in sand.

We are unlocked at dawn and set in motion, Spinning wheels and clenching brakes. But if calm has not embraced our thoughts, Our eyes will remain Shut to the sunlight’s solace, And our serpentine hands, Though endlessly gesturing, Will be harbingers of withered meaning.

Tomorrow when I wake, I will not be myself. Slumber steals emotion, And nightfall dulls my blade.