When the beams underneath the bridges fall
and the dinosaurs that once towered
Are no longer
And the buildings that scraped the skies
are cowering against concrete

The day will come when Picasso
was mentioned as a  finger painter
And land mines were seen
as they trembled on his skin
His eyes were like grenades

And I look up to him
like he was the painting on the roof
of my church
I studied him so much
I could sculpt him
and Michelangelo would be proud

One day he will be old as the rubble in ancient Rome
and I will still sit in his colosseum
and I will still love the cracks in his face
like in the moments they broke stone for the
first time