Runaway

On a highroad untraveled paved by opportunity
High grade of hope degraded by fear
In the vicinity the street lights glare
Bulbs of truth flickering on the lamps they lie
Vying to glow in the midst of dark propaganda
A cry of a belief existing asunder this world of grief
A winter breeze warms the cold nights
A summer breeze burns the scars from this marathon
Soles sore, approaching shore, a run for the soul
A piece of mind, food for thought, to heal the soul/sore
Left and right alternate
All that’s left right obliterates
A walk, a jog, then sprint, to nonexistent ends
A talk, a sob, few drinks with nonexistent friends
Consider this a means to an end
Ending the means "and seeing" of beings I once considered...