here: a pair of golden scissors
the script for a speech
a grand and glorious ceremony
all yours
every brick every steel beam every shape speaks of you
this is all yours, your edifice
this is a church
lined on all sides with faceless idols
this is a memorial
where weeds overgrow every trace of you
this is a museum
your soulless bones everywhere on display
this is your unfamiliar house, your strange bed
yours
outsider
your boundless void
your severe architecture
we come and go and come again, coming and going
only the wind lives here
they do not know why they hurry to and fro, coming and going
from cradle to coffin
clouds without colour huddle nervously
dreaming up a rainbow of hues
shuffling and shuffling their sitting positions
they huddle
they are colourless
many specimens many nameless
try as they might they cannot recall their race
nor write their ancestry
many specimens many without names
this is yours
outsider
your edifice