Your Living Prose

Piece by piece you pick me up
Off this messy floor
Once whole and complete,
I stand here replete
With fractures I abhor.

I cannot reflect you
My image dejects you
My brokenness spills into view.
My Lord and my God
How often I had trod
Now justified, bid you adieu. 

My Lord, how I loved You
But somewhere I lost You 
I lie here bereft of all hope.
But intrigued by your presence
In spite of my essence
I glance up at You, my Unknown.

Didn’t know that was prayer
This active expression
This looking upon
In utter dejection.
 
But all that you needed
Were eyes that exceeded
This gaze beyond their own nose.

So you work and you play
At this Art of your Heart
Restoring is your living prose.

Piece by piece the fragments confront You
You know every speck, the edges don’t cut you
Laboring over the one who was shattered
You smooth what was sharp, collect what was scattered. 

Out of this broken, new image is forged
It shimmers and sparkles, a sight to behold!
 Metamorphosed, this icon of the soul.
The Master, the Artist, completed his goal. 

I never suspected the marvelous treasure
That I could become at the hands of The Master
I want to declare this huge reconstruction
He did for this girl on the brink of destruction.

I started as glass, pretty and clean
My choices did crack it, no longer pristine
I thought the best end would be imperfect glass
But heavenly alchemy - Diamonds, alas!

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