Life is born without shape.
****** out from one to become none
Fresh clay to be cast, spun, and molded
Folded in mother's arms she begins to give form
With a kiss from the source the little form is claimed and a wrinkle above the brow is creased; the maker's mark.
New movement comes in each day stretching out the raw material and shaping more detail.
A mouth of questions spoken to fill in the scrawling words written inside. A hidden design with each learned answer
The world takes a turn. The work is carved, scraped, and left scarred but still more beautiful in the details.
It sees others begin to set dry becoming stuck in their ways. So brittle now in their inflexibility.
Defiant to the end instead of being baked jumped into the water to become something new.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:00 AM UTC
Life is born without shape.
****** out from one to become none
Fresh clay to be cast, spun, and molded
Folded in mother's arms she begins to give form
With a kiss from the source the little form is claimed and a wrinkle above the brow is creased; the maker's mark.
New movement comes in each day stretching out the raw material and shaping more detail.
A mouth of questions spoken to fill in the scrawling words written inside. A hidden design with each learned answer
The world takes a turn. The work is carved, scraped, and left scarred but still more beautiful in the details.
It sees others begin to set dry becoming stuck in their ways. So brittle now in their inflexibility.
Defiant to the end instead of being baked jumped into the water to become something new.