Flowing ever so gracefully,
of sand through a river 
gliding as if on a bed of silk,
each moment could be the last...

Build it up block by block,
with gentle hands we stack and stack,
reaching to the clouds in all it's glory,
rivals even the majestic sun rises of a new day...

weathered by the torrent winds,
rusted with each drop of putrid rain,
plagued by the sweetest odors,
of all the ants coming and going...

crumbling with each shifting stone,
cracks stretching through the skeleton,
bricks falling with every passing day,
only to be taken by the currents rushing around...

Still it stands; not falling...
Still the demons; tear the foundation...

Tragedy chained to joy,
getting from one moment to the next,
of the beautiful disaster,
called life...