I am Petrosinella
and (through no fault of my own)
I am locked in a Babel tower
Waiting for a redeemer.

Several noblemen visit o’er the course of time,
promising freedom,
but stealing wine
and dissolving.

The last to come looks uncomfortably right through me,
wordlessly pronouncing my complicity.
He makes me cross
so I throw him from the lofty window
to his death below.

I stare down at these guilty hands,
these broken, weary, rough, work hands
and suddenly remember
it is I who built this tower —

I who mixed the mortar.
I who plumbed the line;
I who placed each brick upon his brother.

And I weep in remorse.


Unless the Lord builds the house, they labour in vain who try at all.






Day 24

Today’s assignment was to write a poem that features walls, bricks, stones, arches, or the like. Check out Masonry Design for amazing poems about, you guessed it: MASONRY!  🙂

I started with a good description of an actual building, but the poem started morphing into the poem you see above, and I let it go wandering.