A white brick

This is a poem written in a moment of self-doubt hope you like it

A tower high
white and pure
twill scrape the heavens
of that much were sure
for high did it rise well above doubt
and miles shall it echo should one cry out

corrosive it was
that blackness of doubt
seeping into the bricks of the tower
and makes ash as fire does

slowly its shows as the bricks
begin to yellow
crack and breaking
like frail wooden sticks

the tower cracked from side to side
no one saw it break or heard it break
but felt crushed under its weight
and put hitches in everyones stride for a mile wide


The dust had cleared
the dust had settled
the tower fell broken
no word of if was further spoken
the crater dark was left
queer

however,so unlikely it may seem to be
it seems just as likely to me that within the darkness
upon the crater
someone lays another white brick