Travelling seventy miles a second
As sunlight explodes through the trees.
Wind fire blowing through the neurons
Carried on the autumn breeze.
And it’s good to be alive,
Blood pulsing, raining fire,
As the journey flies beneath the wheels.
With the trees as golden as desire,
Roadside sentinels, as my chariot drives me.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 19 November 2017