dirty children play by the same road,
left there,like deserted dreams,
naked,black,ugly,pathetic,and apathetic,
they traipse the streets,
stripped of hope,and unaware of it,
malice in heart,
and naked,incandescent hatred in eyes,
unknown to themselves, they ask questions,
and sharpen their knives,
for their own pounds of flesh.

that old woman by the road-
she is the love i had,
forgotten,forlorn,overtaken by time,
deserted,alone in penury,
that love lies forgotten in space,
by the side of the road we walked,
you and I-
and there the women sit,by that fork in the road,
where we parted ways,
and where the fragments of my broken heart still lie,
like dead leaves the wind brought in the night,
or like so many shards of shattered glass
sharp,piercing,hurtful to the eyes in the harsh sunlight…

and just ahead of that fork are the children,
those unacknowledged desires and dreams born of a false hope,
Utopian dreams,deserted,left incomplete by a helpless,weak dreamer,
they are pictures of my life,distorted versions of beautiful,imaginary reality,
tangible,real,and yet never true since you left,
they carry my wounds,and bore my pain of desertion,
and there they play about,
waiting for me to walk down the road again-
murder in heart and hatred in eyes…

those women and children,
the love and desires that i left,forgot,escaped,
they wait for me,there,surviving on their hatred of me,
and one day i will try to walk the road again,
even though you will never be there to walk with me,
like i have been doing in my dreams ever since-alone;
and they will catch up with me,or i will catch up with them-
and that will be the end,
of me,my loves,desires,dreams,
hate,anger,desertion,pain,desolation,everything,
on the fork in the road where we parted,
even though you will not be there,
i will meet my love again,
and we will die.

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