Though not a poem in its natural vein,
I expect my dream job not to be in vain.
Something where I can be myself
But probably also build a few shelves.
Yes my dream job lies in architecture
Something where my words appreciate their composure.
And yet the secrets in every wall
Like a book, unveil something tall
And by night I stay a wordsmith
Where I can scratch the itch
For a grandeoise story that breeds a universe
Listen up--first college, then my next verse.