I feel the weight of history over my head,
A featherlight touch and tender kiss of
everything that has ever happened.
As I watch these walls ascend.
These walls that have seen so much,
That were built in stone to last the ages.
Meant to outlive their architects and masons,
A monument to their kings and gods.
The stone is smooth beneath my hand,
Keeping the secret of the sweat that shaped it.
The years mean nothing to these cold columns,
And I will be dust long before they.
Yet this is not a sadness, this is beauty.
We are transient; supposed to exist in a burst of colour.
To last forever is not for us, and I would not take it.
Even if I could.
I will leave the possibility of forever,
To the cold walls of the cathedrals and castles.
I have no interest in immortality.
But in the bright, vibrant, incredible joy of