By Madison Gilreath

A cracked, paved road

Crumbles under my feet

Left to sit next to quaint farms

Below the pale yellow of an early March sun

A landscape painted all

Green, blue, and gray

Mountains and trees

Have not seen another soul but me

A town untouched for decades

Buildings and businesses

Left perfectly abandoned

Not begging for anyone to notice

A pink house I drive by

Among nothing else but itself

What a simple life to live

When no one else is watching

I have never found peace

Like the one I find there

My mind washes down streams

Of water, perfectly clear

I always feared silence

Before I knew the right kind

The one that I see only

In the pale mountain sunset

I run away

And come to you

Silent hills

The little brown house

Completely still