Passenger [Poetry]


Sitting back relaxed


the wind tossing my hair

55 miles per hour

smells of autumn

leaves changing

I feel these changes inside

as I realize for once

I am writing my story instead of

watching it performed

before my eyes.

Movie plots run through my mind –

what will they say of me

when I am gone?

Let me choose the actors –

my leading man,

my friends and enemies

the drama and excitement –

I will create my own chaos.

The people I see

day after day

know not of the thoughts running

in my head.

Me, the passenger –

passing through time and space

[but only in my mind.]

These thoughts on paper will be my legacy.

And everyone will say,

“yes I remember her, where did she go?”

Oh yes, I wonder

what will they say of me

When I am

dead & gone?