I walk on well-trodden roads,
neighborhoods looted, souls wounded,
from the incursions of the barbarians
They are muddying my red shoes.
Blood drips from the wounds,
rivers red with portable materials,
of previous daring.
Pending and waiting,
for us the given victims
and disposable people,
with projections on the screen of our eyes,
the mistakes of some, whom we didn't even know..
Boggy former fertile fields,
I'm being sucked into eddies like I'm fighting quicksand...
I'm changing my walk...where should I go?
photo armennano, https://pixabay.com
