Potential in Clay
As a child I was abused;
I was beaten, I was bruised.
Locked up like a rabid beast;
from this hell I was released.
My adopted mom rescued me
and gave me my humanity.
She loved me when no one did.
She loved me, I was her kid.
She was tough but kind and giving.
She built houses for a living;
from plans she drew so carefully
and oh the love she built in me.
She saw potential in clay,
molding each and every day
all the potential of my blood;
though others saw this clay as mud.
She wasn't quite five foot tall
but to me she never seemed that small,
and when she died, the tears I cried
after years have barely dried.
I miss her still, I surely do
and always will, it's very true.
Her memory inspires me
to be the best that I can be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem describes part of my real life story
I am have been blessed, and so incredibly lucky to have had a mom like my mom
This was written for the 'My Anchor' challenge
note: I do not usually use words like hell...but tis the only word I know to describe my early life...I apologize if this offends anyone.
if you care to leave a comment, it is appreciated
thank you
By blind poet
© 2008 blind poet
(All rights reserved)
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