Golem

I carry vials in a pack on my back containing the remnants of my past desiccated into dust pulverized into powder At the side of the rutted road I stop at intervals as I aimlessly wander Carefully choosing one, mixing the contents with muddy water from puddles, drops of blood I prick from the tips of my tender fingers creating clay I attempt to sculpt and mold into something more than before A life I was not allowed to live A golem of a me that will never be A form pleasing to your finicky eyes that favor petite perfection blind to the beauty that resides beyond that time cannot touch transcending the transient physical She cracks and crumbles in my hands before I can complete her as I do not know the name of God He has never cared to know mine Truth and death in art but a letter apart