It flows from one point
through the end of the Road
running like a chased ghost
that was once promised
a land of fortune
buried at a wrong place
with their soul on rested
like a wave of a dust...
The Wrong Call
Doors banging as my name echo
in the midst of lost soul
stretching out my hands
with an amputated fingers
of a stop sign...
The Wrong Call
life is amputated like a bus stop
running from different destinations
in search of help
in a lost soul...
©thaddeus
T