Faint glow blooms, a tiny sun,

A warning whispered, "Come undone."

Beneath the glass, the amber hue

Begins a tale I never knew.

My car, my steed, my faithful guide,

now harbors something dark inside.

A light, a symbol, vague and stern,

A message cryptic, hard to learn.

The check engine light — a beacon bright

Ignites the dread of every night.

What secrets stir beneath the hood?

What silent ailment saps the good?

I pull aside, heart thumping fast,

my fingers trembling as they clasp

The steering wheel, my breath a storm,

While fear takes shape, a shifting form.

I scroll through thoughts like warning codes,

A thousand possible forebodes.

A cracked gas cap? A loose wire?

Or the whole engine set on fire?

I stare into the glowing eye

and feel my spirit start to die.

For every mile I had driven free

Now hangs in fragile mystery.

The asphalt hums, a passive snake,

my pulse in rhythm with the ache

Of knowing something might be wrong —

Yet not knowing what all along.

I pop the hood, the latch resists,

A hiss of heat, a swirling mist.

The engine sighs, a metal heart,

Its tangled veins a work of art.

I squint to see, but all looks well —

No molten core, no sulfur smell.

Just gears and belts, just nuts and bolts,

No glaring wounds, no lightning jolts.

I wipe my brow and close the lid,

Unsure of what my senses did.

The light persists, a ghostly flare,

A constant weight, a pressing prayer.

I climb back in, the silence thick,

the air is heavy, oil-slick.

I drive — because what else to do?

The miles stretch long, the night turns blue.

The city fades, the stars descend,

Each one a worry without end.

The engine hums, a loyal beast,

yet every purr feels like a feast

Of final breaths, of last goodbyes,

A funeral dirge beneath the skies.

I wonder, then, what cars might feel

When sickness comes when tires peel.

Do they, like us, grow old and frail?

Do pistons mourn when engines fail?

Or are they silent, ever-still,

Machines with nothing left to kill?

I name my car — a foolish rite —

To soften all this mortal fright.

I call her Lena , a name that fits

The way she moves, the way she sits.

Through every storm, through every turn,

She carried me, too proud to burn.

And now she glows, her body aches,

Her circuits hum like restless lakes.

I promise her, as dawn unfurls,

I’ll fix her heart, I’ll check the whirls

of gears and cogs, of every part

That makes her whole, that starts her heart.

I pull into a dim-lit bay

as sunrise melts the night away.

A mechanic, weary-eyed but kind,

Peers into Lena, begins to find

The source of all our shared distress,

A faulty sensor — nothing less.

I laugh, I cry, the weight unbinds,

the storm recedes within my mind.

Grace hums again, her dashboard clear,

Her spirit vibrant, free of fear.

I pay the fee, I start the drive,

Relieved to know we both survive.

And yet, that light, that glowing spark,

A fleeting glimpse into the dark —

It stays with me, a lesson learned,

A symbol of the roads I have turned.

For every journey, every plight,

Begins and ends with some small light.