Lies From The Mold

Folder: 
A New View

.

As if I was made of moldable

clay and fashioned easy with lying

hands and perditioned mouths.

My head hurts, my ears do not

believe what I heard before

the lies began.

.

Shapes take place when the mold

holds. Bless the thrown clay, bless

wet hands, bless the fire and the glaze.

I had no warning that clay

could become art and gleaming.

.

Trust came so simply. It arrived 

from the art store in cellophone wrap

warm and soft, ready to become

what hands want it to become.

Self-sculpted, I used to be made

of light and oxygen. I ask, why

does clay have to be at its core

a cool and malleable gray?

.

allets

06-25-19

647a

.

 

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Alistar.B.Usher's picture

Good

I felt like after the comment you left me I would return the favour.

Very nice job I very much liked the last bit, also nice POV it left much to be pondered,good job.

I like how you asked questions in your poem, it added an element of depth to the whole piece.

Alistar.B.Usher's picture

RE:

 I see also we are both from Michigan. I wonder how close we are to each other

allets's picture

Thank You

for reading my work. - slc