In the race against time, I'm always bound,
To speed down roads with urgency profound.
Yet upon arrival, a sense of estrangement,
As if I'm a ghost, lost in rearrangement.
A peculiar feeling, a disquieting air,
Like the night before Christmas, so eager and rare.
But as I search, no presents to be found,
Only vacant spaces, an absence profound.
I yearn to conquer this anxious unrest,
To find solace, to soothe my weary chest.
Yet hope eludes me, a distant mirage,
Leaving me no choice but to continue my barrage.
Through highways and byways, I press on,
Seeking answers in the distance, in the dawn.
For within this perpetual drive, I may find,
A flicker of peace, a place to unwind.
Though the road may stretch, winding and long,
I persist, searching for where I belong.
In the rhythm of tires, the hum of the street,
A fleeting solace, a temporary retreat.
And as I keep driving, a nomad in motion,
I hold onto the hope of a serene ocean.
Where worries dissolve like the mist in the air,
And I can finally lay down this burden, this snare.
Until then, I'll traverse the asphalt expanse,
Embracing the unknown, taking a chance.
For in this relentless journey, I may discover,
A place where my restless soul can recover.
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