long road to anywhere
their land they own no more
their homes ransacked and sold
to men with prisoners as wives
nearby fields of wildflowers
once stretching to meet the sun halfway
but now scorched and smoldering
harbor pieces of unspeakable crimes
the instinct of flight is all that
remains inside human spirits
no longer questioning nor conjecturing
and certainly no longer imagining
they put up unfathomable fronts
instinctively embarking on a
journey to anywhere
fueled by fumes of the innocent
september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
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