I want to be more like the sky

You do not need a reason
Of why you change with the season
Or why you let the winds blow
On their own to and fro

You welcome the birds
And are a canvas for flight
You tuck in the moon
With your blanket of night

You care for the forgotten
And watch over the weak
So that when they feel lonely
They have a friend in the bleak

You do not judge for complexion
Or race or perfection
Your justice is uncast
In social convection

You accept change
Graceful and serene
With every darkness endured
A new sun intervenes

The clouds always clear
And move on with your strength
Even when
The world is dirtied and muddied
Through pollution and ill intent
Somewhere a piece of you
Is free from lament

Teach me your ways
How to be whimsy and free
And create my own little sky
in the universe of me
So that in the darkness too
beautiful I can be

-nk

Clay

When we are born, we are new and unscathed.
Untouched by the world, a blank piece of clay.

We watch and we learn, the world sculpting us as we go.
Content with who we are, content with what we know.
Our childhood reigns and we seize the day,
we're happy with our lives, and our piece of clay.

But time draws on, and we acquire more niches
and cracks, more experience; our naivety on fringes

until the day our confidence is shattered
and our dreams are halted.
the clay that was a canvas
becomes quicksand exalted

we fear, the day ceases
our foundation shakes
we gather the pieces

and before we know we hate the sculpture we've become
what we were once confident in
we want made undone

and we become aware
of who we are and are not
and how the world shaped us
somewhere in its plot

so we try to shape and unshape
Undoing what we've become,
searching for a better us
to bring the innocence back that
we came from.

but the world has left its mark
as we reach for the stream we're from
water cannot fix
clay damaged by the sun.


-n.