Forlorn Mountain Roads

Douglas Forsythe

Driving through winding mountains roads

A once a great connector of the nation

Then the war ended


Then the nation cut through earth and rock

Blasted mountains to valleys and coated rivers with pavement

Thus, the roads were no more


Restaurants and motels serve nothing but animals and vines

Barns and homes crumble to dust or sink into the earth

Like a doomed ship into the depths of the cold waters of the ocean

Taking those aboard with it unless they move on

Reliquary sit in murky windows

Homemade with paper, wood, paint, and crayon

A simple yet gleaming hope that life will continue on

That while everything falls apart around them, there will be a chance to rebuild


A schoolhouse sits on the side of the road

“Built in 1828,” it says in white, emblazoned upon a small green sign just slightly visible from the road

It sits alone 

Alone on the edge of a field that has yet to experience the warmth of spring

For even Florida still sits upon mountain tops entrenched in snow