Destitute

Touch it, take it,
Tear its roots out of its soil sanctuary,
Arrange it, admire it,
Beauty belongs to no one.

You and me,
What do you see?
Love you, despise me,
Will we ever be?

Secrets and lies,
Entangled in family ties,
Familiar, unknown,
The wind whispers as it's blown.

The maker, the creator,
Molds you from clay,
Everything, nothing,
Made for you, will be taken away.