365 Days of Poetry — Day 47

We are nothing but breath from Almighty lungs,
And fresh dirt from the created.
We are but minute beings in an all-encompassing universe;
We are lost in the stars.

Our hearts are small and dying,
Yet we were not composed to be starved of love;
We were not made for this.

We have taken the clay from the hands of the artist;
We’ve thrown ourselves into the furnace, unfinished and weak.
Our hands are crippled with greed and eyes blinded with lust;
We are famished with deformity.

We were not made for this.

– Brittany Rose

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