All the fragile pieces to this malformed destiny,
Expectations laid scattered across the floor,
I had no desire to piece together this broken lamp,
It had grown dim in the recent, cold months,
And my misconceptions needed replacing.
With my foot on the pedal and my fingers wet,
I slapped clay onto its wooden, spinning wheel,
And pressed my curious fingers into its flesh.
I hummed a familiar tune while I pondered new dreams,
Closed my eyes to heighten the touch of my fingers,
Of my mind, both reaching out into understanding's earth,
Molding a new answer, hoping that it might hold light,
Truth that shines without flicker so one might find his way.
I open my eyes and release my fingers, believing in belief,
Hoping my conclusions might hold substance in their bases.
I painted the shell of my new treasure of moral codes,
Colored red daisies, white tulips, blue orchids, and violet roses,
Streamed waves of lacing neons around the perimeter.
I picked my finest fluorescent bulb, colored with a red tint,
And screwed it in with the softest of my soft touches.
The light flickered on, ultimately producing a streaming power,
Seeming to be unwavering in its strength of potential.
Now to wait and see if it can make it through life's storm,
To see if my answer surpasses the nature of this room's question.