And I was made from clay.

And I was made from clay.

I was born at the dawn of our first day,
a heartless fool just made from clay.
On top of that I was imperfect,
loneliness was there to stood and stare.
I took a walk across the distance,
the air was sweet but didn’t care,
it was finally at the arriving midnight
when I felt so lost and in despair.
A cold night to follow after,
an empty life I couldn’t stand,
the advancing voices of the silence,
the saddest man just made from clay.
One night that valued thousands,
a living dead amongst the lies,
and if I could only had a partner…
I thought of that and felt the pain.
Smirking in the shadows I awaited,
I made a trap invoking god,
and when I finally got to see him…
I shook her hand and asked her name.
It was cold but I felt warmer,
her hand was skin while mine just clay,
I approached her with clothed silence
and then she smiled and stood and stared.
A beating heart beneath her shoulders,
a pretty smile she didn’t fake,
then her lips just broke the silence…
“I’ll heal your wounds, my man of clay”.

-And I was made from clay-

 

FANTASTIC. One of my favouriteeeees now. I loved every part of it. I could see thousands of images in my face, and let me tell you that she must be bloody beautiful, or at least I imagined that.
Congrats to you dark man. I love how you are changing just a bit your "dark" style.
Many, many kisses for you.
Miss Pemb

 

One of your favorites... That's wow! thanks pemb, it is a really big pleasure to read that... oh and by the way, I also want to beleive that she would be a beauty since imaginaton can do it all XD.

And about my dark style... do not think i'll let it go that easly (jojojo) just you wait and i'll be back... i won't be always experimentizing XD.

Thanks pemby winter my dear dear friend... i'm glad to see you an have you here, thanks for being with me the whole time.

Hugs and kisses.

 

Beautiful, loved the end of this poem when love healed the wounds..."clay" something to handle and carve at your will... with love Stars my friend. Paloma2

 

Thanks Paloma, it's lad to see you here and to know you liked my poem...

A hug for you.

 

In the quest to be our own personal god/creator (no reference to Depeche Mode, but that song is good too ) at times we travel far and wide and in the end who blames us for ceasing all control -in a way, do we all want the same thing? To be saved?

In any case -Loved each line. How much control do we really have and give?

All the hugs.