CROSSROADS

Of Saturdays and your blue eyes ,
Dreams that are marked with chalkdust ,
The rocks that you left in the jar ,
Your faded red jacket ,
A veneer of refinement when you spoke ,
It was all you ever could be!

With your skin mixed with mud and blood spilled over the ground ,
The watchtower has marks of your scratching and the pink sun don't shine anymore ,
The radio has lost its channels ,
She saw and believed that the grass has lost its green ,
And you faded from the horizon again like before ,
While she spent the midnight there standing alone in the meadow ,
Thinking about crossroads
And bright lanterns!