Eiffel

© Ben Heine || Facebook || Twitter || www.benheine.com
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Paris, France (old shot)
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For more information about my artwork: info@theartistery.com
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Monsieur Gustave

A poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He looked upon the finished tower,
at dusk, as in this sacred hour
the city lights reflect so loudly
and silent bats are flying proudly,
the structure was a masterpiece.

Gustave went down on his French knees
to thank le Dieu for inspiration,
allowing him infatuation
to build this wonder of the world.
When in his head a gremlin curled
iself and wrapped its closest neighbour
inside its claws, then stuck its saber
into the heart of all sane thinking.

He smelled the fear of slowly sinking,
his vison blurred and sparks ignited
those structures, previously delighted,
and within seconds, battlecries
hurled echoes out through both his eyes.

He staggered slowly to the lift
to now ascend what his mind's gift
had built and happily presented,
(and no one knew he was demented) .

The view from there, like any height
inspires awe and sometimes fright.
A step too far, its brash demands
to bring what now he understands
a closure to his undertaking.
The time is now, he is awaking.

To not run out of what man needs,
the catalyst for all his deeds,
he takes a last gigantic breath,
lets go of it to meet his death.

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