Clay


Formless, hard, so rough  the edges.

Around and round in this world I go.

The pain of it as the hard it formed.

I fall, the rough edges break, I crack, the pain goes on.

How can there be so much pain in this go around?

Around confused, lost, hurt, I don’t know where I am

Relentless the rough edges  worked.

 A form appears.

The hard is moved, the cracked is fixed.

The edges made smooth.

The rough that made the pain,

lovingly makes me smooth.

The fall picked up and created.

Around on the potter’s wheel,

around to smooth creation

Made in the loving hands of God.

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