A line of gravel, dust, and stone,
poured from a place once called home,
measured, spread with care and skill,
Flattened earth beneath the will.
It hardens under sun and rain,
a path that leads, that bears the strain—
of countless feet, of tire’s tread,
of dreams ahead, of words unsaid.
The screed is silent, set in place,
a rough-hewn surface, no embrace,
yet every crack and scar it shows
holds stories of what no one knows.
Beneath the surface, buried deep,
The weight of life, the need to keep
moving forward, steady, straight,
no time to pause, no room for fate.
But in the screed, there lies a song—
of building up, of moving on,
of every step and breath we take,
of everything we dare to make.
So smooth it out, and let it dry,
a foundation built beneath the sky,
For all that’s lost, and all we need,
we find a way—through stone, through screed.
WoPoLi 
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