When I rest, I dream of clay-
Towering mountains of unshaped human potential
Wet with the white rain
Of possibilities

I see beauty
In the formless clay-
I see ourselves,
The potential to mold,
The potential to heal,
To redirect the rivers,
To shape our multiple cities with prudence,
To reform ourselves.

I see wonder in the clay
For beauty lies not only within what is,
But in what something has the ability to become.

Lazarus Knix

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clay-3/