Musings Of A Lump Of Clay

Heavy, firm and grey
I am a proud lump of clay
Whose body’s been dampened by soiled water
Battered the palm of a potter
Who molds me against my hearts will
For her soft hands cannot feel

Her hands cannot feel my voice
They can’t hear its whisper, reason or noise
Whenever I scream as I imagine myself
A tiny tea cup, sitting on a well-polished shelf
That hangs somewhere in the top
Of a lonely, expensive china shop

I don’t want to sit there and grow old
Waiting to be bought or sold
A priceless piece of chinaware
To be handled with utmost care
To be kissed by lips that are outspoken
Or simply to be broken

Won’t you take me home?
Return me to where I came from
To the clayey earth, take me back there
Mind, body and soul so I can breathe the air
Drink the rain and feel the day
So I can be but a few, happy grams of clay