The Clay

Life has crafted me,

a block of clay, sculpted,

molded, hardened, broken,

chipped, repaired, aged,

repaired again. Made whole

and unmade over time.

I was cut from a quarry of

centuries, plopped out into

a world I didn’t make and have

had no part in making. And yet,

I want to unmake so much of it.

I wish to remind the world.

Beliefs change, ideologies change,

principals change like phases of the

moon. Everything can change, does

change. A mountain isn’t a mountain

forever. Eventually it’s worn down by

weathering. Eroded into dust.

There is no perfection, there is no

truth in action, there are lies in deeds,

they’re just ideas, passing through a very

short period of time, ideas of people who

will also pass into nothingness and the void

of the universe.

Beliefs are pillars shoring up what we’ve

been told is the truth. Tear them down and

the nerve is exposed. Two or three centuries

go by and those fossilized pillars are meaningless symbols

of a backwards and bygone time. All the fighting,

struggling and manipulating is lost to new pillars of belief.

I’m made from old clay. Bloody, sweaty, trampled

clay, underfoot warrior’s whims and hopeful dreamers.

I still believe though. I still believe there’s worth to be

had in our temporary souls. I believe in humanity and

the most noble parts of our nature, even in the face

of others infernal disbelief.  

Perhaps we’re more boulder

and less Sisyphus.

Perhaps that example is all the more

reason to see that beliefs can change,

evolve, forgive and become something

common, rather than divisive.

Be unmade, be broken, be remade.

As many times as you can.

Made from the parts of many pieces

spread over time.

Change is the only truth, change is truly

the only constant.