The Builders

Everything fits into place

with a satisfying,

audible “click”.

One piece,

then another,

and then another.

 

Living long enough

to see what we’ve built

doesn’t seem assured,

doesn’t seem important.

When a slave dies,

just replace him

with a stronger slave.

 

I’m building a dream;

and in that dream,

are living people,

and dead people,

and people

who I have never met.

 

I’m not sure they exist,

although,

they seem real.

Not like ghosts,

or figments

of my imagination

at all.

 

I wonder idly,

if my dead friends,

see me in their dreams

and wonder the same?

Maybe in their state

of parallel existence,

I am dead,

and this is their dream?

 

Thoughts to chase around the lamp post.

Never getting anywhere.

The dream must wake.

The living must die,

and all the word

must continue.

 

Another day;

rise and conquer,

then return to dust.

Feign purpose,

until the moment comes.

When the piece fits,

and you hear

that satisfying,

audible “click”.

and you know we have done it.

You have made the dream

reality.

 

 

HG – 2019

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