Labor

Coming to,
Out of the drunkenness,
It all becomes quite clear:
The cold and unassuming brick house needs no crumbling.
Wasteful are the drudgers,
with the hammers,
clanging and dripping sweat.
They are seeking something that does not exist.

Walls do not crumble,
that are built to withstand love.
So use force, then.
Attack with brutality,
tearing sinews and ligament.
For those only will collapse.

Blood, sweat, and tears build a stream,
It flows on down the mountain path.
Sparkling in the sun as it drips down rocky edges,
Like diamonds and rubies,
It is beauty.
Let it wash over the skin,
cleanse the filth away.
It rinses clean the days work.
The Fountain of Youth could not match this feeling.

From the pain and toil,
has come this moment of euphoria.
Feared or beloved?