You think a broken vessel is all I desire

But child a willing one is what I require

I want clay that molds and shapes in my hand

Make it ready for the wheel by kneading out the man

You impress with good deeds and and faux sacrifice

You think the effort you muster will suffice

But dear child it is all filthy rags in my righteous eyes

Your good deeds mean nothing when it’s all for compromise

I am the workman and you are my art

I don’t need your help

I only need your heart

Rest, in my hand little one

Trust, in my word

And go and tell others about the grace that you’ve heard

By: A.E. Hannigan

One thought on “Clay

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