Moulds of Clay

Why "end" something that is naturally "and",
We all are pawns in this plan so grand,
The game called life often looked as a strife,
Actually a mystery to be played like a fife,
Roles we play in this world of clay,
Hold different values for diverse shapes,
Bright and attractive considered a blessing,
While dark and ugly a thorn regressing?
Arguments they lay but equal the clay,
Foolish to divide based on shape, 
Even considering them to be made of scrape,
Devoid of solutions they stop looking for the ray,
And in the end all join the world that was made of clay...