Built block by block
Pausing and chewing on your pencil end
Erasing, scratching, jotting down, and
Twisting your head side to side
Pecking at the hard wood like a morning
Bird for the worm.
Oh how it spurs you on like
The morning sun warm against your skin
And growing on you like the ripples
Of muscles, and disturbance of active life on a pond
Or like the panting of your breathe
As you race out of winters white coat
Into the winds of spring with a kites tail
Dangling behind you
The end from which you are rising
Waivering till the new gusts shoots
Us up like a catapult and shortly we fly
Building block by block
Discovering tapping for the hollow spot
To discover hidden tombs and shaking
The dust of every day of every century
Till this very moment.
And we scream to such inaudible heights
To reach the babble of plain emotion.
And unsure a thousand possibilities, hundreds
Of outcomes, and visions
before the entire scope of finite systems
comes appearing clear as glass, simple as fact.
And its done.