No ear may hear 

My faint cry to live anew

To change directions,

North to South.

 

Wind breathes into my nostrils,

The sun cooks at my freckled skin,

As a decayed wrench turns in my ashy hand.

Tightening a bolt as though I was using a finger;

No man nor woman dares to consult me.

 

I blink and find myself upstairs,

As the hum from an A/C unit whispers into the room,

And a faded collared shirt rubs at my skin;

Working away at blue prints on a futuristic screen.

Behind my desk a faint smile brings peace.

 

I blink and my hair grows with specs of gray.

I feel for my Armani coat lying on my chair

And gaze beyond the windexed windows to the outside.

I see a remarkable skyscraper becoming whole.

A concrete wall surpassing the marvels of the Hoover Dam.

A floating carriage leaving scrapes in the sky.

 

These are my creations.

The apprentice has become the master.

A little luck and pluck may go a long way.

A story to put Horatio Alger to rest.