The Water Tower
Circles within circles and wheels within wheels,
the restless gears always churning,
we both know how it feels.
Some call it a gift, some call it a calling,
but we who follow the creative way
rarely know the how and why
of who pushes whom with what,
nor when, nor where, yet still we try
to scale that ladder, to reach that sky,
and always will, until we shrivel,
give up the creative ghost, and die.
Even the water tower frowns
when I write ‘die’. Yet death will take us all.
Tombs and tombstones will crumble and fall.
Monuments, their words carved in stone,
will fall sideways, perish, and die,
their words erased by the sandpaper polish
of wind, snow, hailstones, sun, and time.
2 thoughts on “The Water Tower 8”
Well done my friend! All things must come to an end, eventually! 😉
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Hi Tiffany! I lost the verbals from the next one. Don’t know how and can’t find them. I was thinking of Ozymandias as I wrote this! Intertextuality. Hope all goes well for you..