Construction

The building thinks on its own,
I am a constructive man
About to work on a livid plain
Under the stars, following ways.
I run away from the battle,
As battles matter to some,
It must be strange, always good
To find a man running away
And fooling the crowd of people
Wanting efforts,
Weeds are too corrosive,
Wednesday is under the stars
Of the sky that matters.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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