The Highway


The Highway


On the day of the fight,

all the greens turned red

all the roads were barren.


He couldn’t see the guards with the whistles

riding with some dried memories

and never stopping.


The road,

the highway,

all stayed still.

The greenery; a wasteland.


On the day of that night,

he was on the highway,

listening to every song

of the guards with the whistles.




One thought on “The Highway

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.