The Architect

January 19, 2012
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There stands a man of rigid spine
upon a hill so black it gleams
and in his eyes does start to shine
the twisted tapestry of dreams.

Upon this rock here life has fled
upon the basalt cold with sorrow
the man does stand with arms outspread
and toward the sun he tilts his brow

then as the sun does reach it’s peak
the muscles in his fingers flex
and from the ground he starts to eke
buds of life that grow and stretch

from the heaping shards and slates
from this dome of stone and time
the man of force through will creates
a plume of leaf and root and vine

‘neath the apex of the pines
were leaf meets twisted branch and thorn
a gap was formed between green lines
and from the maw a spring was born

from the fountain silver blue
a plethora of creatures form
the spring with froth did soul imbue
then from life is life reborn





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