The Master Builder

I don’t believe ideal love is real… Can castles in the sky be built to last eternities? Or rather burn, as fast as marriage papers (and melt the holy seal)? Besides, I hate to think I’m meant to steal the blueprint to a fortress from my past to use to plan my future, to forecast the whim of winds who caren’t for mortal zeal? Does there exist a Master Builder clever enough to build a home that neither rots nor suffers,—which fever may never sever? Apart from high upon the playwright’s stages, or daftly dancing in a daisy’s thoughts, soulmates live alone on a poet’s pages