Driving to work and driving home forever
While nothing ever changes but the lights
And my illusions and the price of gas,
And every day I choose again to drive
To work, to work, to drive back home — enough
To drive a man to drink, I tell myself.
I have a list of things I tell myself.
I tell myself that nothing lasts forever,
That there will come a day I've had enough
Of everything and I'll turn out the lights
And lock the doors and take the car and drive
Until I find myself or else run out of gas ...
Thing is, it's likely I'll run out of gas.
I’d have to have a self to find myself,
And since I’ve given it away, that drive
Would take me just so far, and then forever
I’d be lost from you, without your lights
To guide me — ah, there’s more than just enough
Right here and now, alone with you — enough
To get us through. As long as there is gas,
And you and I, my love, can see our lights
Shone for each other, I can tell myself
It doesn’t matter we don’t have forever
As long as we know where we need to drive
To find each other when we need to drive,
When the common world is not enough —
It never will be since it’s not forever —
And there will come a time there is no gas,
And I can never know when I myself
Will fail, and someone else will kill the lights.
Whoever’s there, if anyone, to kill the lights,
I hope they know enough to know the drive
Of love that drives us all, that I myself
Have only touched, but I have touched enough
To know it doesn’t matter if there’s gas,
And love’s the only thing can touch forever.
Your love helps me to trust myself enough
To drive, no matter what the price of gas,
Where our love’s light may shine, if not forever.
It wasn't half a billion years until
The first-born stars had died to make the stuff
We're made of—even then a slide downhill
From symmetry to chaos sure enough.
For everything is broken, even stars,
Even the cores of atoms, even space
Is broken, and nothing can unmake the scars
Of time which finally unmake every place.
Like you, the stars tonight are beautiful
And dying—what could ever matter more?
No simpler way could be as magical,
For we are still those stars that went before,
And while the Hubble circles in the night
We see their light, almost as old as light.
© Michael Snider
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