Road to nowhere?

Empty ... only the roads.

Everybody has their road.

Passwords in a singular age.

I once wrote a poem which said:

Let the colours be unsaid

for who knows what red is blood

what sea is blue

what grass is green,

if they all suffer from the same name.

But we all have our own names:

names to answer

pins to open.

But what is really there?

Do you know?

Let's play a game:

a simple game.

Guess what this is?

I could go on ... shall

I go on?

That's where I left last week.

But I did come back.