The words my soul spills, are like bricks and wood.  At first they are laid in a deep hole.  Then covered with cold unforgiving dirt.  A few more words, fall by the thousands.  The structure and composition is better, but fire soon devours them.  I build again, this time with knowledge of writing, an architect in my mind working along side my passion.  The building of my words is strong.  Someone pays me to look at it.  They enjoy the experience.  They smile, they cry, they read.  I look at my structure and I realize I can build onto my skill, better, stronger.  More words, stacking.  This time I build, tear down, rebuild, polish, refine.  Like a cathedral of my work, it is beautiful, many come.  Some love it, some hate it, but it is there to be considered.   Bricks and wood, one by one.   Finite experience is only found within the building.

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Copyright © 2107 Zachary W. Gilbert