I am an architect

The weight of my words, a wrecking ball’s might,

Crumbling bridges, once stalwart and bright.

I stand amid the rubble, heart heavy with care

-What have I wrought?

This destruction, so rare.

Yet in the dust, I glimpse seeds of new birth,

Fertile soil waiting to nurture fresh earth.

For every structure that falls to my verse,

A canvas awaits, primed to chart a new course.

My poetry, a chisel that carves through the old,

Reveals the contours of stories untold.

Though bridges may crumble, hope still persists

-From ruins, I’ll build paths that the world has yet missed.

For I am an architect, wielding words as my tools,

Dismantling the past to forge visionary jewels.

Each line I compose, a deliberate strike,

Destroys what no longer serves, while sparking what might.

So let the dust settle, the old give way to new

-My verses, harbingers of a world built for you.

Where bridges once stood, let dreams take their place,

Carried aloft by the weight of my poetic grace.