Unglazed
Everyday begins
a cold chunk of clay
kneaded by us
battered by them.
Come dusk it doesn't
look like much of anything
our blood fills in the cracks
untouched-unglazed-unloved.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment