Beware the Road

Cruel this road:
pointing and promising,
lying and leading nowhere.
Bruised, bleeding feet
slog in monotonous ruts
and never suspicion the
insanity. Throngs gorge
at its endless tables
and starve, drink
from countless cups
and cough dust. Beguiled,
all pursue completeness
but die unfinished, their
last coin invested in
imposters who leave
souls to rustle like
parched fields. What
is this weariness
after every pleasure,
this choking on
darkness midday?
Cruel this road.
Damn this road. No
matter the roof it
brings the hopeful
under, they sit homesick.
Is there not another way?