Sunday, February 17, 2013


Can love be kindled on this stone
Hardened by its time alone
While placed upon forgotten shores
By destiny’s unquestioned chores?

Can love be kindled in some fashion
Despite my oft misguided passion
Which leads me through the thorny fields,
Abased until my spirit yields
To the Potter’s hands, or the thief’s
Seeking change or quick relief?

If change it be, His hand will thrash me
And in His kiln He’ll neatly stash me
Until I’m hardened to His liking
My spirit’s features much more striking.

If it’s quick relief I opt for
Gladly shall the thief provide more
But in the end he shall require
Instead of kiln, the funeral pyre.

1 comment:

Lana Shaw said...

I like your poetry, Mark.