Roads

Roads

2500 meters above the sea, the air so thin it slices through your lungs,

the brisk cold grips at your throat as its canines bite and tear.

Bundled and layered, the masses pile into their mode of transport,

choosing their paths, navigating the treacherous lanes of concrete, steel.

Millions pass each other yet never utter a word unless in rancor and ire,

how dare we make contact with others, we deserve our space, we're busy.

To rush and bustle sprinting to another box we spend our lives in,

more than the time with those we love, to earn for the life we desire.

Yet, when the time has come to rest, when we have the time for what we cherish,

the roads will be the only ones who truly know our confessions, our dreams, ourselves.