Blood and Clay

by horngyih

There was dust,
Then the people came.
They opened their veins,
And their blood flowed.
The red streams merged,
And inundated the dust.
From the clay that formed,
They molded the vessel,
Each hand contributing to its
Beauty.
Now that they have deemed
This vessel a thing of beauty,
They argue who amongst
The hands made it beautiful.
The argument ensues,
And each hand wants their
Portion.
To shatter the vessel asunder,
And un-mingle the blood
That turned dust into clay.
To make un-whole the very
Thing that they covet.
Each with their own piece of the shattered vessel
Holds in their hand a splinter
Of what was once a thing of beauty.
Still held together by the mingled blood,
That turned dust into clay.