A broken vessel, wordless and wise,
Jumped from the potter's wheel to hunt for treasure.
Deserts it trudged and forests it flew
Seeking a serum it already knew.
The carrion birds
like dill on a pickle
Track the bloated clay,
Guaging each misstep . . .
which will be its last?
Before it tumbles on a rock and shatters to pieces,
its grip lost on life and lament . . .
Weary, thieving dust settles in its cracks -
poor
seeking
bowl,
baked in strife!
The cesspool of reproach is deep.
As would,
the clay did fall,
shattered dreams lying
naked
in the Son.
Yet that unseen constant companion,
the potter,
the Lover,
picks up the pieces -

And the questions-
-seeking questions-
-breathe life again.

05/31/2002

Posted on 05/31/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jayme L Helmick