There is a long path that leads to a long road as a young man walks quickly through the streets and feels he needs to rush for no reason at all. He passes an older man and scoffs at his easy gait and whispers a whisper of disgust. There is a pond they call it malaria, a handwritten sign says, "stay away from there if you know what's good for you." Walking across the wooden bridge it moans with each step as the beanstalk lady comes racing by in her never-ending quest of running… to where? From whom? The old man walks slowly yet watches as the young man r by him and whispers a whisper of disgust. The old man winces and keeps on going. The river to the left of the town is racing towards an ocean, as if searching for freedom in oblivion. The young man passes the old man, once again, a wonders how he made it past him. Listening to his music in a volume was to loud, he scoffs once again and tells himself, "faster, faster." There is a short path that runs parallel to the long path for about a mile. It leads to the old man's home where his Molly is waiting for him to return. (Continued on freddyzalta.com) #poetry #poems #poem #poetsofinstagram #poetofinstagram #prosebyme #mypoem #freddyzalta #writing #writingcommunity #igwriters #igwriter #original #originalpoem #originalprose #poetsociety #writersofinstagram #writer #author #adviceInstagram

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