The Potter (14, Sept, 2000)
The pieces on the floor, the pots and vessels scattered
The potter kneels amongst the shards, equally shattered.
He takes the clay and holds it in his hands
It will not mould again, he understands.
A lifetime’s work in ruins, gone astray
A lifetime’s plans destroyed in just one day.
The curate weeping, life a mess, doubts and worries, fear and stress.
The child abused, confused, afraid, childhood lost, innocence waylaid.
The man alone, no home, no place, no one ever sees his face.
The woman lost, a life of pills, drowning under mental ills.
Each vessel smashed, each piece destroyed
Designs all lost, the shapes a void
Clean the slate to start again
Flood the world with wind and rain
And yet, and yet the rainbow stands
Between the maker and the man
His creation broken the Potter weeps for us
The lost, the sad, the lonely, damaged us.
He weeps for you, He weeps for me
For what has been, and what is yet to be.
The shards He gathers pierce his skin, He bleeds
And still He holds us tight, He meets our needs.
The pain contained within my brittle shell
He knows and loathes and shares and feels as well.
The loving Potter holds me tight and feels
And loves, forgives, begins again and heals.