Creative Writing Competition Entry - Nilana

THE PATH

There's a place where the path ends

Before the street starts,

The gold sunlight drops from heaven,

While the silver moon is getting

ready to rise from the devils underworld.

At day the path is covered in black smoke

and business men going to work,

When darkness rolls theirs nothing

but 100 pieces of dust floating in the wind.

Sometime but very rarely a white

bolt comes down from the devils sky and hits

The tiniest dust particles lying dead

on the path.

But unfortunately at the end the wind blows and

all that's left is rubbish and dust

blown by the wind.