Asphalt

We're charcoal black and under the cruel burning Sun
We melt with gravel and make you a smooth surface road.
You accelerate like jets your boisterous proud vehicles
Hit poor souls on the way and run away to hell or paradise
With an Angel face
Only white God knows?

* 'You are rewarding a teacher poorly if you remain a pupil.'
-Friedrich Nietzsche

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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