Man Of Clay

Did I ask thee Maker from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?

From thine vine did'st I,
thy imperfect establishment,
pick the fig of serpents,

Poisiond thous't made me
Man of creation, Man of decay,
from thine own crop,

Tempted, thous't made me
with the feelings of flesh,
the beauty of the dark abyss,

Did thine form me,
thy puppet of earth,
to serve thou malign purpose.

Thous't the puppet master
pulling the limbs of clay
formed by thine own hands

You banish me, oh high one
forever to walk in the rust,
the sins of you
relfected in me.
Man
Man of clay.

by Anthony Dakhoul

Other poems of DAKHOUL (3)

Comments (1)

the sins of you relfected in me. Man Man of clay....That is the truth...very thoughtful write...great