A Clay Vessel.

For dust you are.

Shaped with a steady hand,

Filled with air,

be beautiful was my first command,

Filled with room.

Yet. Despair.

 

For dust you are.

"I am worthy of your space",

The promise of passing sand, 

Often the most appealing disgrace, 

Heavy but empty, 

Where was my reprimand?

 

For dust you are.

Now I must be broken,

Tears, sand, blood. All must be shed,

Together mixed. A token,

Who I am, 

Dead.

 

For dust you are.

But dust is who I am,

Made not to shine, 

Nor to be filled with sand,

I am dust, 

Just fine.

 

To dust you shall return.

To be the ground others stand on,

That was my first beautiful command, 

Blessed to be trampled upon, 

For I learned my place, 

Where I began,

In my Master's hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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