On The Road To Nowhere

On The Road To Nowhere

He is on the road to nowhere,

With no return ticket home.

The headlights stretch into black distance,

And he does not look back.

The house still stands behind him,

Walls heavy with noise and need.

Children who call him father,

A wife who once called him love.

Bills lay folded like quiet accusations,

Bread to earn, mouths to feed.

He carried the weight for years,

Until his shoulders forgot their shape.

Marriage had become a corridor,

Long and without open windows.

Words were spoken, yet nothing was heard,

Two lives passing without touch.

He did not leave in anger,

He left in exhaustion.

A tired man with tired hands,

Driving through a night that matches his chest.

There were dreams once, bright as morning,

Plans drawn in hopeful ink.

Somewhere between nappies and overtime,

Those colours drained to grey.

He loves his children, that is the truth,

Love does not always mean staying.

Sometimes love feels like drowning,

While smiling at the table.

On the road to nowhere he breathes,

For the first time in months without shouting.

Silence sits beside him gently,

Not asking for anything at all.

Yet freedom tastes bitter tonight,

Because absence has its own echo.

He knows small faces will wake tomorrow,

And his chair will be empty.

He drives on under a moon that does not judge,

A man cracked by duty and years.

Not cruel, not heartless, just worn thin,

On a road that offers no clear map home.

If there is redemption, it waits somewhere ahead,

Beyond regret and blame.

For now there is only the hum of the engine,

And a heart unsure of what it has done.

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