Poetic license where no driver's one exist.

Sitting in solitude on this moving institution

Sixty cents to have an hour with me and my pen

My God as my inspiration

Hours, days, in quite solitude on this

Mass Transportation

Ideas, like rivers flow through my soul

with no where to go, except the pen

And the paper.

Hours, days of my life just searching

The depths of my soul

Excuse my bluntness,

but this is my present to life, who has

given me so much

this is my voice in the void.

These are my views and loves,

and my hates.

My joys and my sadness

This is my trip, home from school.

Tired, but the pen calls, and I must answer.

To know me is to read

One hours worth of what

I write on the bus.

This gift from heaven,

That I give on