The clay was molded before it even had a say
The hands that sculpt it always seem to pull away
In decay, it's life spent
Decomposing through the ages
Eventually returning to the source
Back down into the dirt
Only to be dug up again
Back to where it all begins
Once more an unsuspecting victim
Recaptured by the crafty hands that shape it
But always leaving the work unfinished
The twisted form always different
Yet sharing the same base characteristics
The mind forgets what the soul already knows
The head won't catch up cuz it's too ******* slow
So everything is misaligned
The heart can't be left unsupervised
It has a mind of its own that won't stay in line
This is surely the curse of life
Conflicting energies residing in the same soul
Different currents, opposing motions
Yet in the end spilling into the same ocean,
Where all erodes into sediment
Just to be molded and sculpted again