Trees pass quickly in a blur

I stare at the green blob of pine trees and fur.

Spine aching from the countless hours that've gone;

Aching ears from the countless radio songs.

And the hours continue to roll.

Small talk coming from the driver beside

As the darkness appears and the moon starts to rise.

The cars squishy seats suddenly feel a bit harder

as I mumble a response to my still talking father.

And the hours continue to roll.

I focus on the dusty freshener that's no longer fresh,

and pull on the cushion quickly fraying mesh,

and watch the dash hula girl thresh.

And the hours continue to roll.

The destination is nearing but I am still gray

for when we arrive we'd have lost another day.

Hours that cannot be given back

for my mother remain barely intact.

Her disease flows through her veins

and I am still here.

pulling at fabric and staring at brush

awaiting my mother's sweet tender touch

and with nothing to do but sit in this car,

I count the miles we've driven so far.

and the hours continue to roll.

The ringing phone is a crack to my heart

for no news is considered fair.

I watch a tear slip from my father's glistening eyes

as he grips his tousled hair.

no need to ask, for I already know.

on goes the turn signal to the side of the road.

Death - oh such a thing i despise,

causes water too to flow from my eyes.

and the hours - they disappear.