The Claypot Existence
A vessel is molded from solid clay; its inner emptiness makes it useful As I sit there, a double edged-word struck Directing me to my past musings on pecuniary lack I sit there, feeling the pain, less painful Than the realization of a fool Hurt by a brief intermission of poverty That questioned my religion And interjected my unbelief The welcomed pain effectuated relief Erasing my doubts and confusion Borne by double-mindedness and trepidity I sit there, covered by the hands that made me Gazed at, by the loving eyes of the one who shaped me I feel comforted, protected by his image That no mind will interfere, no eyes will judge This existence enveloped by his entirety “Your success does not stem from the throne where you sit It will come from the glory of the feat, that molded your happiness I, dwelling in your emptiness” The double-edged word terminated improbability Loving words dictating my heartbeat Gracious speech ruling my seat Proclaiming the sincerity of his word Declaring the authority of his sword Pointing me to the ground of possibility Carefully pinning, hammering Painfully thinking, creating Patiently enduring, loving The claypot’s existence
