It is love.

Laying one brick at a time, square
The mason worked diligently
All day and all night
Leveling as he went with rugged hands
Sweat beating down on his brow, grey
Painstakingly, without a draft
Notwithstanding a crew or a squad
Nothing between a man’s naked visions
And the necessary hustle, dark
Nothing between his wants and needs
And his heart’s comfort, purple
Under the pale moon
He dreamt each room in his sleep
Down to the color of the ceiling, blue
And the scent of the living, green
To the glint of sparkling smiles, yellow
Bright as any day can be, red
He abandoned the painless, black
Throwing out the old and regular, white
He fashioned his dome, a masterpiece
For the likes of tomorrow
A kaleidoscope of creativity and labor
In the precise shape of the future, round

What makes men dream in shade and sound?
What propels their visions into the beyond?
To build entire new worlds from snowflakes?
To write songs in sounds and rhythms unheard?
And paint atmospheres in vivid palates not yet discovered?

(click on the picture)

One thought on “It is love.

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