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Auto Pilot
Author: Bench

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Iím cruising up
And down Life St.
On auto-pilot mode
Sometimes, the music blares
From my souped-up amp
Then silence
As the world
Tumbles,
Twists,
Turns.

I gain control
And shift my gears.
Fast I fly to the
Promised land
Yet my tank dries up
And the controls freeze
The city lights grow
Dim,
Dark,
Dead.

The auto-pilot
Greets me once more
As it takes over
And I sink into a stupor.
Hazy fumes of
Uncertainty
And my mind goes
Bleak,
Blank,
Brain-dead.

I canít really tell
When I am coming back
Or if ever I am coming back
At all.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

Red Dragon (202.162.163.10) -- Friday, July 13 2007, 08:13 am

~..`

ive travelled the same road pare...
 
Name:                                           Remember Me

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