The Shaping Of These Pots Of Mud
friend, we still decide
what we become
though what we are
is shaped by
them
there is a time when
we awake and have the sharpness
in our senses
we sculpt a face a body
we articulate a soul
we use this will and we will it
we become because
we like to be
there are things-in-themselves
within-themselves
that grow and become parts of us
but that is not all
neither is it the end of something hopeless
our hands shape the pot
our mouths say the words
at this point
let us say
we are fulfilled.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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