As I drive

[tectak]

As I drive there's so many sights. there are...not there is sights.
So many lefts, so many rights. though this kind of padding, so so, is usually a no no, I get a rolling rhythm. Watch out, though, the piece is getting nursery-rhyme'ish very quickly.
Up and down the hills we go.
All of them cloaked in snow. Hmm. We are now up cliche creek without a specifically shaped implement of flattened form primarily designed as a propulsive force generator when moved quickly through water. up and down....we go...cloaked in snow. The ryhme, too, is forced by sparce simplicity. You leave yourself Iittle word choice...so end up with little words.

With trees on both side,Sides. Proof read before posting. Forum rules
the road hardly visible,
pastel skies,
no reason to be miserable. Sacrificial stanza. It says nothing about anything relevant in a mixed-up medley of disconnected words . We jump from trees to visibility to meteorological musing to philosophising in one pointless stanza. You could omit this without collateral loss.
I speak these words
as I go.
I don't want to forget
I want you to know. Dreadfully gratuitous and nebulous. What words? Why would you forget? Forget what? Who you? Are you talking to me? Taxi! Do you only speak if you are...er...going? It's a mess.

Of the inspiring scenes
that come to my eyes.
What I think about,
and realize; Where did this stanza come from and what place does it occupy in the poem? You MUST get your metaphorical backbone muscled up. The piece is collapsing into a pile of old bones. There is nothing, nothing, holding it together. Your use of the semi colon is bizarre. If you are unsure of punctuation there is plenty of help on offer...but it is easier to ask YOURSELF ...what am I trying to say? If you do not think semi colon you will not write semi colon. Read what you have written...out loud. Punctuate according to your spoken words, not to your ego.

Thinking of things
I've never thought,
My brain always rings
with this curse I've got. Oh good grief. Stop.Stop now. Thinking things you didn't think??Wha? Wh? Ringing brain is good but not here...ah...rings rhymes with things...justified. Shheesh. If you cannot find a rhyme for things...change things. It is YOUR poem. You are master of the words...not the other way round.

My meter is off.
my tempo tampered.
The critics may scoff.
I'm not up to their standards.

My meaning is clear.
This we all know.
The voices I hear,
want it to show. Agreed...but you take the piss at your peril. Straighten up and fly right.

This piece is in the wrong forum BUT I will leave it here because I feel you may secretly yearn to improve...but are bravado bound. We shall see.
Edit this by deciding what the hell your primary metaphor is trying to instill in the reader...after all, you have posted it the workshopping forum. So workshop it.
Best,
tectak