Wet Clay

My home is the lonely wet asphalt
Under a black sky
It steadies my shaking faith
And wipes the tear from my tired eyes
When my arms can't move

The mountains surrounding me remind me of my mother
How I resented them for years because they loved too much
And now I'm ashamed because I did not notice their beauty and accept their love and guidance

Heat from the sun warms my cold body
But burns me before too long
Like my father, the sun, tries his best but does more harm than good, at times
Still he loves

My brother like the trees I envy
Tall and slender
Patient and care free, dance in the wind
Never giving more than glance at the pesky birds in his limbs

The stones at the bottom of the ravine
Stubborn like my grandmother
Though her faith never moves
Stuck in her ways even in a flood
Though the hard exterior, her love is as soft as mud they lay on.

My grandfather, the river.
Even when it's dried up, it's legacy lays in the earth it's carved.
The water of his words cool against my elastic skin.
My throats is barren from the years of drought
My ears yearning for the words of a dry river.

I weep to the moon for guidance
Like the wolves of my mind
Who tear me apart like the game they devour.