Picture a ball of clay:

moist and malleable,

constantly being molded
by artisans and amateurs,
wizened by wise men
and smoothed out by children.

Picture this ball of clay
committed to the furnace,

slowly taking in the fumes and flames,
baking for days, months-even years-
to rise anew as an icon of progress,

only to be broken down and committed to the process

time and time again.

Picture this process and its constituent task,
and find me the metaphor that lies therein.


About optimistthepessimist

Always in transit.
This entry was posted in Writings and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Metaphor

  1. firasmourad says:

    Best poem you have written so far.

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