When I rest, I dream of clay-
Towering mountains of unshaped human potential
Wet with the white rain
Of possibilities
I see beauty
In the formless clay-
I see ourselves,
The potential to mold,
The potential to heal,
To redirect the rivers,
To shape our multiple cities with prudence,
To reform ourselves.
I see wonder in the clay
For beauty lies not only within what is,
But in what something has the ability to become.
Lazarus Knix
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clay-3/
