Moving in and out of
And sharp,dark Messy bogs.
The pavement Starts and stops
Not in straight defined lines
But rather worn with time And broken down
By years of being smashed down
By cars and thousands of feet.
Where the pavement ends,
Gives way to wooded lackluster Maples and oak.
The sun that barely shows through Shows mulched leaves.
Some with color,still Others dead and covered in mud.
Well paved areas
Have straight lines and Manicured edges on the surface.
Upon closer inspection it Reveals ragged,rough Edges
Trash in the bushes
it meanders Through a small town
Homes on one side,
Gray and white Graves on the other
Wood in the distance.
The road keeps going
And it will keep going Until one day
It turns back into a trail
And finally stops On the banks of the river.
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