The White Lily

Her clay was nearly dry,
and the fingers were already talking,
Relfections of the sun off her glaze were dazzing,
She took a ray tucked it away
in a heart box for safe keeping,
and every day she'd just wait
for the blooming of the white lily'

Mesmerized by the fire
some fell for the meaning
Molded into shape by an image of those they trust.
Among the hypnotized,
a young girl questions with reason,
and climbs from the ashes and escapes
their clenching clutch.

Looking trhrough a crack in the glass
at the world pretending, waiting for an answer to appear from the other side.
She seized the day and flew away
on a cloud with sliver lining,
and from the ray she tucked away
a never ending source of light.

By Kenny Ray Johnson