An earthen pot
Lay off the coast
Of all the waves
The eyes of it's creator make
Assumed itself forgot.
In the wake of blossoming moss
She blushes green
Decorated like a bride to be
Life had become cozy
It's form never hardened
And heart never scorched
But on a rainy day
With no proper clay to play
With, the waves leapt
To the soft sleeping vase
Spun around from slumber
Her blanket of moss asunder
The creator put the cold metal
To scrape off her summer
And with it a part of her
She was brilliantly plain again
The greens gone with her skin
Before she understood the wheel
Below her or the bare wind upon her
In the worst of her fears
Placed in a fevered chamber
The heat didn't let up
For her to even weep
all of her blackened
turned to something vacant
She sat until the fever broke
She found herself forget
How to love the greens
Her heart now inwards
She found their roots offensive
in her weak tender nooks
they'd supped on her very being
decayed her with care not deigned
on her life, oh i would have died a child
she declared and nothing ever grew upon her
The mosses and the mudpot
wondered how selfish the other are
for no tenderness she had
for them to visit her upon
and no might the mosses had
to grow tall till their spines equal
seeds sown together
bent away like apples and oranges
each their own Caesar
stabbed away by their Brutus.
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