My vehicle has become defective
From my intolerance
Of others driving habits.
My pet-peeves are gravel in my gasoline.
My tires are nearly bald
From the blistering aggravations and annoyances
Of this tedious road full of obstructions
And misleading maps.
I am stuck in neutral, my engine racing.
Unable to accelerate no matter
How many times I pump the peddle,
Wishing I could abandon this journey.
My transmission cannot get beyond
The cog of others' splinters
Unless I power forward with hot rage
Blinded by this god damn beam in my eye.
Did I curse?
Oh Lord, let me accept that which grinds
And gristles against my every nerve
So it becomes grease instead
In the mechanisms of my Home-bound chariot.
Grace me, Oh Master Mechanic,
With compassion that turbo charges
My transport into blissful detachment
That allows me to soar above my rabble-babble.
Infuse my engines with the fuel of love
That conveys my consciousness
Into the transcendental here & now
That I may instantaneously hurtle home to Thee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, Sheila... this is an amazing write! You're definitely firing on all (meta) four cylinders. Great from beginning to end! Brian