Poem: Where It Begins


Where It Begins

Too often it begins with the demolition.
Pulling out the parts and pieces that have fallen.
Examining each one to see if there is life left in them.
Carefully sorting the useful and the rotted pieces
that caused the fall.

Demolition, done well, is not easy work.
It is slow. It is tedious. It requires an eye for truth,
an admission that even the most precious may be dangerous,
and the most prosaic may have value.
It is slow, often tearful, hard as reality.

And yet, it is where it begins, the rebuilding.
It is where the foundations are revealed,
and the beams still able to hold floors, walls and roofs are discovered.
There will be surprises, beautiful things buried in the rubble
that you had forgotten.

And when the work is done, you are ready to begin again,
to create something new, built on the best,
the survivor pieces
that give your new creation not just structure,
but soul.

About this poem

A bit autobiographical. About builds, lives and souls.

The picture was taken at an abandoned factory in Athol, Mass.


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