Haven’t written poetry in some time. You’ll have to excuse my form.

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This was a road.

A million of them walked it.

This was their road.

It took them somewhere.

 

Weeds and grass.

Cracks, buckles, and rubble.

 

This was a road.

This got them there.

The artery of the valley.

A concrete connection under open air.

 

Now beaten by metal feet.

Thousands search for a place to be.

They travel in shuffling rust…

On the path of vanished builders.

 

This was a road.

It may lead somewhere.