Claykind
A melange of two poems
We are But Clay and To Yeats
We are but Clay,
Soon to crumble to dust, fade 'way-
After the Cold Hand's call
And the dead bells' knell
We are no more than memories-
Slowly fading to oblivion
As vicious Clay clash like titans
Against the Weaver of Clay strands
The centre cannot hold
There! The Dwelling gathers mold-
Left to its doom, violated by scavengers
Who like Judas peck their Mason.
O Spirit! If you were here to behold
Nations a-throat, men in scuffle.
O Yeats! If you beheld our Clay-
Setting in the East, back to Dust.
There weeps the knell
Here forth from Clay steps hell
Given Breathe by Clay’s cupidity-
Doom weighs over Claykind
The latter, like Jezebel, is but having a make-up!
Behold the mask, behold the impostors!
Claykind veiled to conceal scalding faces:
No mourning veils, no remorse
As Clay take another shape!
But Claykind should not forget
That there is but a Titan
In Whose entangling net
We, like strange flu are patiently analyzed.
Copyright © Gerald Nforche | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment