Pisaries Creator

The sun is bright.
I could not see.
The road ahead of me.

The lines are over shadowed.
I could use the rays of yellow.
Like a drawing by a five-year-old fellow.

The child is smart.
I can't compare.
The sun shifts at his dare.

I take shelter.
I try to outdrive the heat.
My foot pressed down on the street.

The car accelerates.
I zoom toward the finish line.
My restricting seatbelt is a sign.

Rays keep following me.
They are perfect in unison. 
No one can ever be here and free.