by Glen Martin Fitch
Those kids
who won the race or
counting prize
with blocks built walls
the higher to knock down.
But I,
with cast off pieces,
could devise split-level homes
to fill a sprawling town.
No teacher guessed
behind my nap-time gaze
grew domes of glass,
a fortress in a tree,
deep caves,
a castle keep,
a garden maze,
a Doric temple,
cities 'neath the sea.
For years
I've slept alone
in rented rooms,
yet still some nights
I float up stairs of stone
to tower loft
or down through vaulted tombs
to claim forgotten treasures
as my own.
I'll never build my dream-house,
yet, in kind,
these dreams and day dreams
helped me build my mind.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011