Broken, Shattered.
I lay crumbled, sharp glass,
Upon the cold tile floor.
Unrecoginized, nothing.
Can make me,
What I was.
He stands there,
Yelling-I will never,
Be anything.
His words seem to break,
My shattered pieces,
Smaller, into nothing.
He says I'm nothing.
Never, will I be whole.
Nothing.
Then the potter comes,
He picks up the pieces.
His hands strong.
Pain is present in both.
As my brokeness cuts,
Him.
His love and blood,
Are strong-I'm
Something.
He molds.
He puts together.
I am new.
I am what I once,
Was not.
I am his creaton.
The enemy lies.
He says-I'm too broken.
Nothing.
The potter says,
"Broken"
That's how I use you.
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