Build a mansion out of wooden blocks with a cardboard roof.
Build a castle from sand with a moat and a tower.
Build a den with a sheet between two trees.
Could you leave your mansion, your castle, your den, knowing that you could never return to it; to the place that you have loved, nurtured, grown in?
Then find a floor and build your mansion . . . again?
A beach and build your castle . . . again?
A forest and build your den . . . again?
Could you? I know you don’t want to but you have to. So could you?
And could you build your mansion without your bricks?
Your castle without your sand?
Your den without your sheet?
No. Same as I can’t build a family without a home, without a mate, without a love.
Because they’ve pushed down my mansion, washed away my castle, pulled apart my den and here I am, pleading for more time.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
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