Love and Words

_______________

The Architect

        __

In my life, 

I have built whole cities from scraps of words 

quilted into phrases 

and baled into walls.

Knitting them strong corners

with wire from broken dreams, 

I have built rooms of echoes

and forgotten things.


Stacking bricks of phrases, 

I imagine these jumbles

to be architectural wonders,

when my life 

would be better served

to realize,

they are temporary.


People come to live here

convinced

I have saved their history,

adorned it,

and made altars in their names.

I soften the oubliettes

hidden among my false rooms

with cushions of soiled letters

that speak of love

and end in doom 

to make these forgotten rooms 

places my travelers 

long to be.


To forget and remember at once.

To live in a dream

and bear no responsibility.

It's what they come here for.


With blank sheet I wander,

pencil sharp and ready

to reject all I see that is real

and transform it into

shelters of should be.


Even though, 

my buildings list

on uneven foundations,

everyone walks about 

with their arms extended,

to catch themselves

should they fall,

as if this state of things

were normal

and to be expected.


I build because 

I have nothing better to do.


Do you believe that?

You shouldn't because it's a lie.


I build because

behind the gates of the east city, 

the one that is locked

and no one may enter

without me - 

I am building

a city of jewels

and solid foundations, 

windows that stretch far into the sky, 

floors that are warm, 

walls that are cool

and there are no forgotten rooms to find.


Everything there

is crafted with skill

down to the smallest detail.


And everything out  here,

all my paper walls and leaning roofs,

has been remade but with care.


Made to last until the end of time.


And people live there, 

yes they do, 

I seem to be the only one

interested in outside.

People live there, 

anyone can move in, 

all you have to do, 

is realize the extent of 

these paper lies 

and tell me you desire

more permanent rooms.

         ___

decagon          poetry

______________

            home

c.2011 Cassandra TribeAll Rights Reserved