The Clay

With fists full of clay we build the ball
reproducing all along and some just love the clay
so they take it from the others
still some just give their shares away
because they love their neighbors
while the artists 
plunge deep their colours
into the barren, pale, dull grey
bringing forth the fruits of life
from the blinding and grinding day to day
where we all bury each other
while playing in the clay
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Kendrick Avatar
September 4, 2009 at 5:20 AM
Mark, this is deep thought. Sara
Brown Avatar
August 15, 2009 at 5:28 PM
Good afternoon Mark. Thank you for sharing your fantastic poetry today. I enjoyed reading it. Love, Carol
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