I

stood in front

of the concrete

building in awe.

|||

The puppetmaster sits on a small wooden chair.

He plots out the details and he maps out the struts. Indispensable.

Cold, hard and calculating, to be near him is to silently trust. Hope.

Harsher words you’ve never heard as you obey his barks. Order.

Cans littering the floor remind of nights working in the dark. Alone.

Precise linework in blue ink stains from the page to his desk. Runoff.

Block is placed on block, stacking forever into the sky. Higher.

From the outside, it is as ugly as he.

Another slab is toppled into place. It is forgotten before midday.

Protesters nearby decry the unnatural, mechanical, thoughtless shape

All the grey windows block blinding external light. Inside, it is tiresome.

Profile view is no different than any other. He’s created another square.

Blank and emotionless, it juts out from the flowing green surrounding.

It is abysmal and they know it is abysmal, and they decry it abysmal.

From the place of misunderstanding.

Each angle crafted with great care to allow the sky to touch the ground.

Each slab placed with such precision that it will stand forever.

Each window masterfully allows just the right amount of heat clear.

Each and every piece placed where each and every piece must be.

It is a shame that it has gone unnoticed. Within years, nature will have it.

A fallen monument once again becomes a blight to its surroundings.

|||

I touch the door

and shout, and cry

“allow me entry,

let me see.”

He turns from the perch

as a smile slowly forms

and his eyes shine bright

while he sips his tea.