Blind Spots

90 on the freeway.
Fast lane cruising.
Chasing a sun some
run away from.
Burning gas and day
light. No time to waste.
Just money to make.
Tunnel vision – no time
to look back. Staying
in the fast lane. Not
in vain – just avoiding
pain. Reach top speed
and succeed. Pushing
the pace, it’s a race.
90 on the freeway.
It is my escape. Away
from slowing down,
I push toward new life:
another opening door.
In your blind spot,
I show myself before
I am somewhere else.
Don’t mind me. I am
gone: a fading song.

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