Place
I walk a road.
It leads me to a place I have never seen.
I stop and look at that place, to see if it has glowed.
Looking for some type of glean.
The place I visit is mowed.
I try and make amends with it.
The place moves its own way.
I look at the place and the bits.
The place is old and decrypted now.
I feel kind of gray.
And I wonder how.
The place does too.
I sit there and vow.
To never never figure out who.
Copyright © Kale Mcclure | Year Posted 2017
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