Here's a rather strange poem I found buried in one of my numerous notebooks yesterday:

We were rushing along in our own happy world
Alone, undisturbed, refined
The sky shone blue against the sun
The ocean blue against the sky
We didn't stop to wonder why, we only knew that we must drive
Drive, drive
We must drive and leave behind
The silent questions undefined
of Who and When? Where and Why?
Stop to take a single sigh might break the mode
Stay on the road
Look ahead, don't glance behind
Don't remember yesterday
Move ahead, move away
Driving might relieve the pain we've forgotten buried here.
There, a sign! a blaring red
No more space to rush ahead
We hit the brakes, hit them hard
The silver silence shatters now
The shards of broken peace are all
That's left; delusions, echoes, sounds, of dreams gone bad
Thought we had a life made up of more than that.
But listen now, softly now
A thing called peace - real peace - is here
Creeping softly like a mother, a
Holding, gently cradling mother
Now steps in and like a lover
Strokes the broken silver parts away from mangled, bloody heart
And breathes
Sighs
A hope begins to rise
We roll our windows down now
Taste the wind, embrace the wind as
We begin to drive.