deepundergroundpoetry.com

Ode to the Potter

I am but a lump of clay whose shape has been transfigured,
and You the potter have dismayed at this body I've disfigured;
a broken piece of pottery, an empty vessel discarded...
but still Oh, Potter! with gracious hands, You have not yet departed.

For my final glaze has not been set, nor have I felt the kiln's hot breath.
Your hands have snatched me from the fire and saved me from eternal death.
To dust now I have been returned, mixed with water, the Potter churns...
content am I to be remade, a gift that I could never earn.

With artistic mastery and vision, I'm placed upon the wheel.
You spin me into a precious jar, with spirit You wish to fill,
and though my purpose on this earth is still to be discerned,
be it scooping fire from the hearth or water from cistern...

here I am content to work upon the Potter's mantle.
For in His hands, I am strong, there's nothing we can't handle.