Skyscrapers

They hurtle towards the sky, towards the stars,
faster than the speed of thought. Embedding their tips
into the pellucid marshmallow of clouds,
piercing a hole, letting in shafts of golden sun,
allowing light to spill onto the earth.

They allow entire streets to darken; they deny visibility
to those unfortunate people facing away from the sun.
Their metal shards overpower everything else
in humanity's vicinity--they can create the sensation of night,
simply by existing.

They conjure the bliss of warmth, of protection,
by shielding the chilled folk from the glacial breeze
that emanates from the poles of the earth.
They block, confidently and with poise,
the swirls of wind that people strive to avoid.

They magnify the gentle murmurs
of an innocent squall--to twice, thrice in magnitude.
They warp the perception of hearing by forming
a tunnel--through which once innocuous winds
whoosh, dropping the climate by several degrees.

And who creates these formidable creatures? Only that
she will be the most powerful of them all, miles above
the pedestrian, above those dallying on the streets.
She will perch on the summit, the pinnacle
of the city, watch as the ants of people scurry about--
unimportant, inconsequential. She keeps rising, physically
and figuratively, as she climbs up the mountain.
Once she ascends the skyscraper, she stops.
Gazes around, and smiles--knowing that she reduced
humanity to pinpricks. Such is her power,
the power of an architect.