The lump of clay
Inside are the wildwoods
There are so many stories waiting to be told
The primeval yearnings can be heard uttering from my soul
The writhing pain of suffering and loss
The ecstasy of the magical heights
All inside me
Yet no one can see
All they see is a quiet form
A lump of clay with breath
I am waiting I am in waiting
Frustration oozes from my soul
Waiting for the woods to grow
Waiting to reach my full height
With the music of my soul
Permeating all around
To bring an awakening
When I breathe the birds will rise
From my strong branches
They will have freedom in their flight
But I will be rooted to the ground
I will sing of the joys and pains of growing
I will sing of loneliness and love
My tears will drench the earth
Where the fairies and elves weave their magic in my mind
For reality is not a peaceful place
Not a place for the feint hearted
I will bear fruit for all to enjoy
For small and large, strong and weak
But only in time
Only in belief
That this lump of clay can do more than breathe.
By Margie Thomas
18th June 2006
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