MOLDING LEGACY
I hold the clay in my hand,
looking at it with nothing in my head.
The image of him I suddenly remember—
started to mold nothing to forever.
Roughly soft, caress with water,
every inch of him is perfection in a cluster,
rolling it circles, tapping like a wall—
to this masterpiece, I am enthralled.
Under the sun, it stands strong,
with a touch, I am where I belong—
from cloud-soft to stone-hard,
my legacy stands lifelong, on guard.
YOU ARE READING
LEGACY
PoetryA collection of self-written poetry about a writer who dreamed of establishing her legacy in the world of literature-especially in poetry.
