A gutted building which appears to be the eventual home of the advertised 777 Sixth Street NW complex, coming soon to a street corner near you. The death of the building reminds me of one of my favorite John Donne poems, Death, Be Not Proud. Like the poem, the destruction of the building is not so much about the death of a landmark, but the rebirth of a new generation... Of course, unlike Donne's view of the soul of man, the resurrected building is not eternal, but rather a continuous cycle of rebirth - at least until the physical location of the building becomes irrelevant.
Death, Be Not Proud Death, be not proud, though some have calld thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go-- Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or chrarms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die;. John Donne
