Rearview Recede

The engine hums, a low complaint,

against the night, a tired saint.

I pulled away, the house behind,

the last light, shrinking, hard to find.

That small glass rectangle, it shows

the path just gone, the way it goes.

The streetlights blur, a quick, faint line,

a final glimpse of what was mine

just moments past, now fading fast.

A world gone small, not built to last.

My face in there, a tired blur,

a stranger watching, quiet, pure.

And everything behind, it flies

away from me, beneath these skies.

It pulls and pulls, until it's done,

a lonely journey, on the run.