No ear may hear
My faint cry to live anew
To change directions,
North to South.
Wind breathes into my nostrils,
The sun cooks at my freckled skin,
As a decayed wrench turns in my ashy hand.
Tightening a bolt as though I was using a finger;
No man nor woman dares to consult me.
I blink and find myself upstairs,
As the hum from an A/C unit whispers into the room,
And a faded collared shirt rubs at my skin;
Working away at blue prints on a futuristic screen.
Behind my desk a faint smile brings peace.
I blink and my hair grows with specs of gray.
I feel for my Armani coat lying on my chair
And gaze beyond the windexed windows to the outside.
I see a remarkable skyscraper becoming whole.
A concrete wall surpassing the marvels of the Hoover Dam.
A floating carriage leaving scrapes in the sky.
These are my creations.
The apprentice has become the master.
A little luck and pluck may go a long way.
A story to put Horatio Alger to rest.