It was the silent hour, that time deepest in the night's watchful embrace, when dreams slowly unveiled their brilliant colors and ghosted past the gated portals of the logical and conscious mind, to answer the yearnings the soul couldn't voice.
Such were the dreams of builders, colored in brick red and charcoal concrete; in vivid hues of green, yellow, purple and red neon; in the transluminescence of glass blocks, the silver of steel, the muted orange of terra cotta and the golden palette of maple and ash, to usher humanity through the twin doorways of their hope and rage into another time and place far removed from themselves and the pains of this world.
What we build is who we are, and what we make of ourselves. What we build is who we are, and what we long to be. What we build will become how we failed; what we destroy is what we have become; what we don't know or have forgotten is what we never were, or will be, ever again.

April 30, 2016