Exhibits

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