Nothing Can Reach Me Here

Sometimes the drive home 
is just too good to end. 
The darkness envelops 
the road ahead, 
the road behind, 
the fields of either side. 
Nothing can reach me here.  

The tires whine on the road's pavement,
and the engine whirs;
but there's a silence.
A silence that blankets the dark drive.
Nothing can reach me here.

Sometimes the drive home
is just too good to end.

There's a certain peace
in the dark,
even as the dark presents unknowns — 
and unknowns are not peaceful.
It's not a peace you know can last,
for once the destination has been reached, it's gone.
It's a bubble.
A bubble that says,
Nothing can reach me here.