Young Writers Society

Note: I haven't posted anything on here in a while.(4 months to be exact  ) Here is my second paper I would like to share. Any feedback is appreciated. Thanks   

                                   -Geoff



As I stare at my faint, brittle reflection in the window of the passing world, I wonder when you’ll speak. Nothing escapes your lips other than your warm breath that becomes chilled as it seeps into the icy panes of the car. The radio is the only one conversing amongst us. Right now, the radio is singing Bob Dylan’s Man of Constant Sorrow. “He is no good”, I say to myself. His words crack with static and are out of key. Despite the horrible voice of the radio, you still tap you fingers in rhythm against your leather steering wheel.		

It begins to rain while we drive. I can’t help but have a cheap thrill as I watch the rain penetrate the windshield. Slowly, the droplets accumulate and vaguely crawl across the dashboard in a lava-like motion. The dust and dirt collected upon the dash envelopes into mud. Yet while all this happens, it is the only thing that keeps me awake on the drive home.



I wish it was my voice on the radio; defining poetry in harmony. That way, at least you’ll know I am in the car with you. That way, at least you’ll realize I am worth something more than you. That way, my song can lull you to sleep in the rising tide of the car. That way, my voice will be the last thing you hear from afar. 

And thus, we go…