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Sometimes it's more telling what we don't put on display |
Exhibits A toast to silent architects The structures that they build Skylines changing over time, with lifetimes altered, filled Hands that sculpt so deftly With hammers left unswung and chisels disregarded, with lumps of clay unsung A tune played by a minstrel mute A melody self taught Guided by such ghostly flutes, and played without a thought Twirling through our lonely dance We practice the routine Self consciously, we count the steps Praying that we're seen By silent choreographers... Who don't know that they're there With understudies in the wings all too well aware Aware but disregarded As they mould themselves and vie For a place in the production, a part they hope will fly and sometimes if we're lucky The clay will meet the hand Chisel will strike marble The dance will run as planned Both parties twirling, spinning in a fortunate embrace With architects left grinning Disbelieving at their place Looking out upon a skyline Undeserved, yet truly theirs Seeming unearned, yet so perfect Near perfect as a pair and singing from the portraits Behind the shadowed window panes Silent figures haunt the landscape … exhibits without names |