The Builder

There was a tower being built.

With great effort it reached for height,

it stood proudly.

People mistook it for beauty,

they didn't know how to concentrate effort,

they never build.

Then, one day, it collapsed.

Because beauty is not effort

and effort can not last.

Demolished stone covered the grounds,

for years no life was possible near the ruins,

no one went close.

The tower builder lost his center,

his gravity,

he didn't know how to live.

Slowly, in the absence of the tower's height,

his vision returned to horizontal nature.

Seeing all there is to see.

The land asked his attention,

so he gave it,

the animals asked for care,

so he cared.

His life became quiet,

he forgot about towers.

The stone became part of the landscape

and its cracks collected what the wind

brought from working the land.

One day, after work, his gaze found

a flower blooming amidst the ruins

so vibrant and alive.

Now the builder knew,

that beauty

the tower never could have been.

Carefully he climbed the stone piles

and saw that many more were growing,

touched by their beauty he removed a couple stones

to give space and light to those who had little,

and stacked stones for shade to the flowers buring in the sun.

Hands remembering stones upon touching

and before long, composing and

rearranging, losing track of time

a pavillion stood, with flowers safe

People came to look,

in awe they sat amongst the flowers.

Forgot they ever worshiped a tower.