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.

 

 

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