Perfect Porcelain

You never spoke of conquering heights,

Or of scars you have to mend.

You never showed a tear in your eye,

Or haunting fear from nightmares.

No pity too subtle, no rage overpowering;

No karma too harsh, no miracles ‘moving’.

 

You never lit a melancholy candle of hope,

Or rituals appeasing faith.

You never spoke of the world’s wisdom,

Or proved too timid to brave.

What fits the hand is for the taking;

What falls otherwise is not worth bothering.

 

And as you moulded us for the kiln,

We take shapes into perfect porcelain.

Can we make it through with sanity ?

As fading colours of life give way to reality.