Invisible potter

mother’s cries could not save her from his mighty hand
as he broke her, his vessel to make it anew
the priest’s sacrifices appeased not the slightest;
the heavens burning her solid, time and time again, not a few
it had to be as it was, or it would not of his own craftsmanship be worthy

imprisoned, to understand freedom; sorrowed, to know joy
had she not sunk so low, never would she have looked so high
to where for hers, he let not shine so strong, his glory
it had to come as was, so gratitude be cultivated and pride buried

all that heard these cries, all that felt sorrow and all that found pleasure in her pangs;
he let gather for a witness
many not hiding spite toward him, many not sparing harsh judgement toward her
how she trusted the untouched and sought refuge of the invisible
but it had to be as it was, for he never touched to leave no mark

after only so long, the softest breath could be heard proceed a deeply rested soul
they, fond of the cries and the cracking of flesh and clay felt sick from the quiet
his hand lifted, they stumbled shaken,, it could not be her, she had ceased to be
the sight of her unrecognizable; new to the very core of being,
never had they seen an invisible hand create so uniquely, so brutally a masterpiece whispering of the most tender touches
it had to be done as it was, a testimony never to be forgotten, never to be altered


as a portion of the once hidden glory consumed her, his very own breath and touch, invisible yet so commanding
jealously protecting her and simultaneously setting her free and with his love overflowing in her; she arose
it had to be as it was and his mark had been set yet again for a foolish generation that took pride in its inheritance.

for the uprooting of unbelief, and shaking of understanding
proof that all honored, is to this invisible God, nothing but as rags
lives highly regarded; a grain of sand if he willed it so
A vessel he could break and make to the cold or to the hot;
to the earth or to the flesh; in a second or in years; in his wrath or in his joy
it had to pass as it had, with her as he chose

the cries now songs of joy, the tears not of sorrow
it is as he saw befitting, to do as he did so it could be as he wills not for His own but their own sake
and all but just a single facete of endlessness


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