Messages In Mortar

I am the implement of the architect’s vision

who gives shape to what he designs,

all those reveries of edifice ecstasy,

which I permanently mortar

by this solidified tapestry of his inspiration.

 

My hands are extensions of his will,

inside I feel the flow of his pride

thou I be, but a servant to his brilliance,

how it gives me joy

to help bring form to his creativity.

 

With these fingers I have toiled

unto all the labor set before me,

my back bearing the consequence

from this calling,

yet when I’m done

such happiness abounds

from this construction artistry.

 

And perhaps it will help

take my mind off tonight

when that old lady

will be sitting front row

at the strip club I work

for she’s been getting

a bit too ambitious

when shoving that dollar in my thong,

 

Alas there is no relief for this workingman,

seems I’m always getting the same choice,

because either here or at night

it always involves some kind lay,

with these bricks

or in some drunk lady’s dreams.