The Potter

I have a post I'm musing through and it's taking a few days to mull over. So in the meantime, I thought you might like one of my poems.
Tia

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.

Tia