Post Apocalyptic Road

I lie here, all by my lonesome,

Reaching for miles on end,

Searching from house to house, town to town.

Oh, how I yearn for the noises and voices I once heard,

Men and women visit and converse,

Girls and boys crying out as they play,

Dogs running, jumping, playing, barking.

Oh how I yearn to hear the noises and voices I once heard,

People moving to and fro,

All with places to go.

I lie here all by my lonesome,

All that can be heard is the suppressed voice of the earth herself,

Stretching forth, searching for a vision once dreamt of,

Waiting, just waiting for a sign, for one small familiar noise, sight, or sound.

Oh how I yearn for the noises and voices I once heard.

Yellow lines painted upon my spine, once bright and new,

Now faded, leaving me only a soft, faint, line to remember them by.

I lie here all by my lonesome,

All I hear is the muted whistle of the wind.

All I see is the bright sun and, the once green and lively, dead brown leaves.

Oh how I yearn to hear those beautiful noises I once heard,

The sight and sound of life, nature, and of love.

I lie here all by my lonesome,

Slowly splitting, with grass and weeds covering me over.

Oh how I yearn for the noises and voices I once heard.

Waiting, just waiting for a sign, for one small familiar noise or sight,

I lie here, yearning, waiting, wanting,

All by my lonesome.