In Potter's Field,


In Potter's Fields,    

In potters fields
lie the faceless,
the nameless,
the hopeless
the loveless
the wretched masses
from the poorest parts
of the cities
who died without friends,
or the means to
even mark their passing.  
These potter's fields
are everywhere,
and the world has
many souls turning
into clay that one day
the master potter shall
restore into worthy
vessels again.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MFB III

Author notes:

This is a poem about the destitute

who die with no money to bury them

all over the world daily,

it is a huge tragic group,

take a walk sometime in a potters field.

and note the disconnection,

because they only get numbers for graves,

no name, no history, no anything,

just a number.


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