A poem for my daughter
When they took the building out of the
man,
they left glass you could eat from, his
soul, a breeze,
and a spoon clinking for a toast to the
century.
Many people came to where it all went
down,
that solid building was destroyed so
easily
it was given a switch when the sun
comes on.
There was life and love and laughter in
those walls,
and the time had given it's final hour
where
something else had fallen, the hearts
sunk away
from the dead tongue pulling the
weight.
And now it's no more, imagine how you
would feel
when you may have designed it and
cleaned it
and put your mark on it, down to the
ground
with a thud you can hear up to the
heavens.
The lot goes up for sale more than an
exchange
of words or ideas, it will be a patch
of history
gone against any other storm or fallen
grace.
The life speeds up to take the building
out of the man,
like any kind of train, even this one
looked the same.
-s.m.g.
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