I'm nothing but a lump of clay in the potter's hand
Formless and shapeless with no use
Meaningless and bound to fail
Of all those around, He scoops me up
I'm nothing but a lump of clay in the potter's hand
For my fate is determined by my master
To make a perfect finish with me
Have Thine own way, Master! have thine own way
For I'm the clay mold me after your will
I'm nothing but a lump of clay in the potter's hand
As he begins kneading my grooves
I feel the great warmth of His hand
Which stretches me mercilessly
In distress I realized I need the grace of the potter
Helpless I am for it's so unbearable
I'm nothing but a lump of clay in the potter's hand
Just clay in His hand
He keeps molding and shaping me for a good cause
He smooths out my edges and builds me up
For I know the potter possesses great plans
The Potter's Clay
Borklo Solomon
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 08/01/2022
Poet's note: God is the potter and we are the clay
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Poem topics: fate, feel, perfect, good, bound, distress, mold, warmth, great, master, thine, potter, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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DaCosta de Poet : Indeed he has great plans
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