Greatness from Lois Linkens
a white vase, freshly sculpted by strong potter’s hands
and painted by delicate fingers
teeters on the cliff’s edge.
unknown winds bluster its surface,
threatening to ruin,
like the desert deformities of the Altiplano.
and surely does one blast catch its base,
and with unforgiving hurl it
to splinter into pieces,
some which settle softly on ledges of greenest grass,
others bounce down rocky ridges
and some find their fate
in the churlish throws of the water below.
and so, does the pre-Earth child
crawl in unity
with its embryonic companions,
unknowingly towards the fiery splintering of souls.
as one tiny hand fondles fluffy blankets
and dozes under newly painted walls,
another wails in greasy gutters,
their first earthly glances
soon plagued with hardship.
this is not childhood,
this is premature maturity to the iciest degree,
heaped upon a child whose actions
have yet to define their choices.
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