every hand holds creation within
yet who lifts the heavy load
who shapes the earth we walk
sculptors of ground unseen by us
while brushes paint skies above
below calloused palms shape clay
the dirt roads beneath our feet
are galleries unsung by the world
is the sweat not a masterpiece
is the strain not its own verse
to build is a symphony of grit
but who stops to hear the music
everyone paints dreams in their own way
yet we forget the ones who labor
their art lies in every foundation
the quiet architects of this earth
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Comments3
But where are the master builders?
We are all architects building our own way in this world. A most interesting set of metaphors. Lovely
A lovely write although we are all trying to build our own way in this world, we owe a debt to those who laboured before us and laid the foundations for us to build upon, enjoyed the read
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