Building Temples

 I think we live in a state of flux.
 You have to work hard to build the temple
 and then
you have to rest a day
 and let the birds build nests
 and the spiders web the corners with their sticky trickery.  You have to
 or you'll never know what you were doing all of this work for in the first place,
 and your life will become a hollowed out hall
echoing back the haunts of the breezes always rushing through.
I thought I heard the sound of the memory of a dream
of something I wanted to do and someone I wanted to be,
in a time when the wanting didn't sting.
If I built this temple, now what? 
Let them come.
Ok. 
But I hope they don't stink or have smudgey faces; I might not
be able to handle the human stain touching my perfectly detached life.