Drive

[mitchellxandersen]

Drive

another day starts with
the strike of a match

Racing up the sharp
timbers

from the further grey.

That burning it keeps
the drivers sweating

and clips through the
chatters of the day

until all that is left are
bare hopes.

carrying their smog
down the road

empty luggage for a
black horizon

a horizon,

where embers
and tears meet.

From what I've learned about poetry and what I do my poetry about I think you end your stanzas with words that don't add any extra emotion such as the words a and the. Despite that I love your use of punctuation, (mainly because that's the one thing I have a problem with), other wise I love your poem it's written very beautifully!