Architecture

Inside lines, in the fabric of dreams, throughout manufactured tools, all we can hear is loud music.
Screams echo on memories long gone; while the bricks are being built towards a new building.
The building is old, one must start another one new; through broken sand and water, the river flows slowly and we can see on the common landscape, a building that replaces, earth, grass and powder.
One must start from a line, line upon line; the sketch is born, the idea remains.
A horse’s seen on the horizon, the sky becomes wet and blue all over, the yellow starts to fade, the red starts to form all over the architect’s head, numbers began to appear and disappear, lost numbers without any cause, numbers that can’t be replaced.
All over a crowd, thoughts are muttered :
A nice place to live in.
Walls great and lots of room
A quiet zone in a great atmosphere
Blue’s all over the horizon, simply great
All in the architect’s head, line upon line towards line, working people, hands to fill where blank ideas used to be.
“One starts a circle anywhere” 

– says the architect.
Cold places start to appear hot, the presence’s always there; the feelings are everywhere.
What’s to start?!
Where to start?!
All I have is a blank page – whispers the architect softly...