clarkmichael0408poetry

Like a potter at his wheel,
I'd like to sit and mold your clay.
Caressing it, enfolding it in my hands.
Its curves and grooves slick with moistness.
Until its desire to be formed becomes the vision in my mind.
It's passion, my passion.
We become bonded together.
We create a masterpiece of art.
From a lump of clay and a thought.
The master becomes one with his creation.
Like a potter at his wheel...
I wait to create,
A vase, to hold the flowers of your dreams.
A bowl, to hold your thoughts.
A cup, for you to drink from, when your heart dies from thirst.
A pitcher, to hold the water, I'll use to wash your hair.
All I need is a bit of clay.
Entrust it to my care, and
Watch my loving hands, form for you these things.
I'm waiting here, at my potters wheel.
To fashion from your dreams,
An exquisite mold, to hold your soul.
I'm waiting to caress you.

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