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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 02: 09: Interlude</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The days, the nights, flow one by one above us, <br>The hours go silently over our lifted faces, <br>We are like dreamers who walk beneath a sea. <br>Beneath high walls we flow in the sun together. <br>We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pursue, we flee. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We sit at tables and sip our morning coffee, <br>We read the papers for tales of lust or crime. <br>The door swings shut behind the latest comer. <br>We set our watches, regard the time. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What have we done? I close my eyes, remember <br>The great machine whose sinister brain before me <br>Smote and smote with a rhythmic beat. <br>My hands have torn down walls, the stone and plaster. <br>I dropped great beams to the dusty street. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My eyes are worn with measuring cloths of purple, <br>And golden cloths, and wavering cloths, and pale. <br>I dream of a crowd of faces, white with menace. <br>Hands reach up to tear me. My brain will fail. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Here, where the walls go down beneath our picks, <br>These walls whose windows gap against the sky, <br>Atom by atom of flesh and brain and marble <br>Will build a glittering tower before we die . . . </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The young boy whistles, hurrying down the street, <br>The young girl hums beneath her breath. <br>One goes out to beauty, and does not know it. <br>And one goes out to death.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Conrad+Potter+Aiken">Conrad Potter Aiken</a></strong></div>

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