ASSEMBLY LINE REJECTION
 
  I am a mold of unbaked clay
  Inside the fold of every day
  Disguised by eyes that blink false lashes;
  Shiny, silver, satin sashes
  Make-up masks and Chic Cologne
  Wrap the drone I beg to clone!
  To stay their styles and steady trends,
  To feel their lip-sticked, happy grins.
 
  When something false belays my starts;
  An engine choking, coughing sparks,
  Revoking license to my mold
  I try their shapes, but they won't hold!
 
  "There are sharks among your peers."
  Something warns and sears my ears!
  Yet, I am blind and deaf and dumb
  My newborn clay still sucks its thumb!
  Fears, at last, to fears succumb.
  My God, what is it I'll become?
 
  Tears become an ocean squall;
  My brow a waxing waterfall
  As panic frames my frantic question,
  But then to God, no new expression.
  He's heard that plaintive plea, I'm sure,
  Yet, I've naught sought His help before!!
 
  Still I try to pass the test
  To find my face among the rest,
  (for God, it seems, was quite asleep
  when I made my request)!
  And though I am the blackest sheep
  Among the whitest herds,
  It seems I'm feeling less distressed
  Than when I zippered all my words.
 
  Indeed, I am convinced at times,
  The patina over my design
  Is more than dirty gathered dust.
  And I begin to trust a knowing,
  I am something Special growing…
 
  I am a mold of unbaked clay
  With hands that shape me night and day
  Into a sculpture that is mine
  Not cloned from some assembly line!