Here I’ve sat for these grueling weeksnwatching the days go by,nrecounting when paper jumped to pen,nand graphed its own design.nnThis pen is dead in my hands.nThis paper is limp on my desk.nEvery attempt at beauty is failure.nI am no architect at best.nnI’ll smile when I’ve made something so beautifulnthe sky cries when it meets her tender lines.nI’ll smile and I’ll smile.nnThe greatest of arches point inward.nThe tallest towers stand on their own.nThere is no beauty in independence.nThere’s no romance in being alone.nnWell here I’ve sat watching these clouds sail,nshifting like jelly fish fly,nand thinking these cities look so smallnunder the big sky.nnThis pen is dead in my hands.nThis paper is limp on my desk.nEvery attempt at beauty is failure.nI am no architect at best.n