Am I nothing

Am I nothing

But a straw man

With little conviction

Left for life

The arrows winged

Desire

Burned core deep

Fired in a kiln

Holding ceramic hearts

Better suited to the shelf

Keepsakes and mementoes

Of another time

When a wild wind

Borne of passion’s

Psychic tempest

Tore dry straw storks

Through heartless stone

Piercing a scream

Of uncertain origin

Pinning back ears

Saturating the potter’s wheel

With the sweat

Of a novice

Barely able to shape

His life's work

Into an epitaph

Looking for redemption

In feet of clay

Failing to provide

Proof of an existence

Outside the scope

Of nostalgic restoration

Remodelled

As heartfelt

Art.