The Motive, The Disaster

My prime goal in life is to ride solo in some beaten up old muscle car (preferably a tor red '72 400 Road Runner, with a 4 speed Hurst shifter with glass cherry bombs and side hood stripes that trace down from the vents that stridently boasts its size) with a raging engine growling ravenously below its trembling hood while I throw away all my goals and priorities and set across the desert roads in search of nothing with a destination found nowhere. To me there's no freedom like an open road that enigmatically seems to never end. The wind blowing in your face forcing the world's fading oxygen down your throat forcefully choking away any gasp of a cry that may override your senses. Yes, perfection is at its best when you are alone in your own idea of ecstasy, but when the sensation hastily weakens you can feel the world around you laughing while you swear you heard mother nature weep out and shriek. The stars beckoned, "Child stop your crying". The sun demanded, "Child stop your crying". But when I looked to the moon, it placidly agreed with me, "Without the sun, I dont shine". Though most of the time I feel alone, I know I've got the galaxies on my side, as they never end and permit one to dream past their own imagination. I may not accomplish one thing I want in life, but at least I have my dreams to help pass the time.