Memories a lump of clay we mold day to day until it turns sublime
And with time delusions of past illusions grow a work of art
They depart from their original form and transform into what we will them to be
See how they look as in time's fire they cook, clay turned to rock
Lock them away or put them on display, molded statues of times past
Fast you will find they are frozen in your mind forms of your belief
Markers of grief or joy no cast bronze did you employ when they fall they will shatter
Scatter on cold ground lost pieces won't be found, but maybe it doesn't matter
-
Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: July 10th, 2025 03:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 132
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan, Tristan Robert Lange, Damaso, Cheeky Missy, RSM0812, GenXer Shamrocker ☘️
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Comments14
This is an interesting poem.It can be taken two ways.The life of a clay staue and the life of a Man.I could be wrong but that's how I saw it on first reading. Enjoyable read either way
Thank you so much my friend for your read and interpretation. As I have told others before what is important is not what I intended but what the reader sees. I have read Po's The raven many times and have read many reviews of it each with different takes and although I know most agree it was about his love for his lost wife it still rings different every time. Your remarks are most gratifying.
I see this as how we mould ourselves over time, or how we think we do, believing that over time we have changed, but that is not always the case, enjoyed the read
Thank you Tobani for your read and interpretation. It is always a pleasure to hear your thoughts
You are very welcome
Powerful. Sharp and vivid.
Thank you so much Thomas I very much appreciate your read and encouraging words
The mind is always transforming things around us. "into what we will them to be" : we shape experiences, etc. to suit us. What stays in memory for very long turns indeed to rock -- resisting changes.
Indeed Soman you get to the center of this piece quickly or memories over time changed from the original block that they were made out of distort and then solidify into something that it never was. I appreciate your review and interpretation
This one strikes like a kiln-fired truth, dear poet and friend. 🔥 The molding, the warping, the eventual shattering—it’s all there, silently devastating. The line, “maybe it doesn’t matter”, hit me like a whisper at the edge of forgetting. You sculpted something incredibly haunting and memorable here. Well done, Soren. 🌹👏
I am glad that you hit upon that last line. How we see things true or distorted in the end may not matter at all. Memories change reality and we make of it what we want we fire it in our kiln of time reinforced by the heat of our own desires and fagil as it may be if broken is=t can not be reassembled but may not matter at all in that we all remember things differently and try as we may they will never match someone else's memories. Your words are deeply appreciated my friend.
The mould has me transfixed and don’t know whether that is more preferable than statues being pulled off their base. Got me thinking 🤔 hard🕊️🙏🏻
Thanks so much Cryptic for the read and support they are always most appreciated
Most welcome Soren 🕊️🙏🏻
I don't see where I authorized my mind to be taken over like this. I felt like someone was spying on me, even fearing the possibility of learning more. Brilliant, yet dark. Thanks for sharing. Cheers.
Thanks so much Damaso for your read and of this piece. Your words are most encouraging and I appreciate the support.
Good write SB.
Thank you Orchi for your review it is most appreciated
Nice one, SB. I guess poetry is safe from falling and shattering, and can still be considered as art. Do we remember every poem we write? I don't think so, but my memory is less sharp than it should be. Your 'lump of clay' can be a poem as well as a life. We mold many things in life, from art and such, to ourselves and our children. Hopefully we achieve some success. A very thoughtful poem. - Phil A.
Thank you Phil for the read and kind words of support. Yes it may indeed be a poem and although they do not shatter they can be lost either buried under dust with no one reading them or as some have reported lost when sites go down or literally when thrown away or burned.
Those times of the past will lead us to a good place in our life soren.
Andy
Thank you for the read and kind words Andy
Very true. Good one.
Thank you Kevin I appreciate your review and kind words
Oh I like this a lot. Beautifully written and a very interesting subject. I think it's so true that memories get shaped over time, and I love the clay and bronze analogies. The shattering caught me off guard but so true. I've had quite a few discussions about how the same people can see past events differently. Some remembering rose-tinted positives and some remembering negatives, with everyone defending their beliefs. Great write.
Thank you so much for your review of this poem. I found that going back to a house I had not visited since childhood had shrunken it. Remembered in a small child's eyes it had appeared mush bigger then, the ceilings taller.
agree with your thoughtful message about memories, and how they transform
Great work
Thank you Nafisa for your read and understanding comment your support and encouragement is deeply appreciated
The theater is empty today, but my paint doesn't come off. The fire had sculpted me in a shape I've never known. This was beautiful,Soren.
Thank you so much Nami for reading this piece and for your most kind supportive encouragement.
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