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k-mPoems
The hands that mold us I am clay They could smash me into the table Kneading out the unwanted Shape me into whatever they thought Suited Adding bits, scraping others away An amorphous thing, waiting to become art I was almost complete But the artist thought better Gently my walls collapsed Once again I became a handful of earth Starting over I was fired once A low heat More set, you can’t make Major changes But additions, adjustments The sculptor waits Pondering carefully The steps to come
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Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
Pottery
The hands that mold us I am clay They could smash me into the table Kneading out the unwanted Shape me into whatever they thought Suited Adding bits, scraping others away An amorphous thing, waiting to become art I was almost complete But the artist thought better Gently my walls collapsed Once again I became a handful of earth Starting over I was fired once A low heat More set, you can’t make Major changes But additions, adjustments The sculptor waits Pondering carefully The steps to come
k-m
Written by
k-m
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
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