The Mold

another child of clay
was born to us today

mold it as we say
so it can live one day

in our world of grey

strip it of its smile
earnestness is style

its red cheeks are vile
white in a short while

make it fit our pro-file

success in work and prayer
content that life’s not fair

just strong enough to bear
our never-ceasing stare

too weak to really care

we’d like it to find relief
in substance or belief

idless goes with grief
both should be… brief

self-medicating’s the motif

let it like the others
love them like its brothers

because built-up hate smothers
the one’s we deem the “others”

that’s exactly our druthers

let it grow and die
with only a quiet cry

never a thought of why
or something new to try

it should be quite dry

this mold will make it glad
it’s like the one’s we had

anything else would be bad
it would end up raving mad

and then it wouldn’t add…

…to our world of grey

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