Free Verse Poetry on Fierce Femme
Breath of Clay
Of being and becoming
I am the breath of clay,
molded in the dark kiln of time,
fired to fragility,
yet I walk among the stars.
In this flesh cage,
a symphony of cells,
I pulse with borrowed light,
echoes of cosmic dust and sorrow.
Each heartbeat a question,
each blink a moment lost,
a flicker in the great expanse,
where silence hums the truth.
I wear the skin of ancestors,
their whispers coil in my veins,
a river of ancient pain and laughter,
a tapestry woven from dreams and dust.
Eyes, these portals of light,
mirror the endless void,
where souls drift like fallen leaves,
caught in the currents of being and becoming.
In the marrow of my bones,
a library of forgotten stories,
etched in the silent language of stars,
a map to the unknown, the unseen.
I speak in tongues of fire,
burning with questions unanswered,
why does the heart yearn?
Why does the mind spiral into itself?
The wind carries my thoughts,
scattered like ashes of dead fires,
lost in the labyrinth of existence,
seeking the warmth of understanding.
And in the end, when breath fades,
and the clay returns to the earth,
I will leave but a whisper,
a shadow of a soul,
etched on the walls of time.
I am the breath of clay,
molded in the dark kiln of time,
and in this moment, I am human.
This is the brief miracle,
the fragile truth of our being.
Ani Eldritch 2024
