The Road      


Burnt bodies
lie melted to the blacktop
on this Long Walk
that will never end.
You look past them
with no wonder in your eyes -
you’ve seen these shells
a thousand times before.

We come to the town
where you were born,
now a hollowed ghost.
We walk through it
without emotion -
we’ve seen the ghosts
of everybody’s town
on this Long Walk.

Four earthly miles on
we come to the place
where they held
a parade in your honour,
all those years ago
when your face was still young.
On the dead breeze
we can smell the candy
and hear the cheers and clapping
as they honoured you by.

This is one ghost too many
calling from a world
that was doomed from the
moment you were born.
For the first time in years
tears fall from your lost eyes
to mark their trail
down your dirty face. 

So I hold you,
as I have a hundred times before
and as I have
a hundred times before,
I will give you
something of myself
that you will devour greedily.

I will hate you for it
as well as love you for it.
On this Long Walk
that will never end
there is only You,
the Road,
and the voice of ghosts
from a world
that you helped destroy.    


Martyn Bonar

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