More Human Than the Rest of Us

A building came alive today

as I stepped inside its doors.

I asked who built it,

it told me of the many hands

that had touched its bricks

like layers of skin and

molded it into life.

I asked who had walked

its floors, it told me of

lonely women on bar-stools,

soldiers back from war

drinking its alcohol,

children running up

and down its halls,

their laughter still

echoing around

somewhere in the

basement.

I asked if it had nightmares

about falling down,

it said no,

it only had nightmares

about gunmen;

I asked if it was the same thing,

it said no.

I asked what it believed in,

it said it had faith in the

revolving of its doors.

I asked who its God was,

it said the pavement.

I asked why it stood –

and for that, it had

no answers.