Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Becoming Clay

Becoming Clay
Stacked upon the shelf,
my emotions, spent and raw.
Dark are they now,
and bland—
I cannot feel anymore.

Whispers of my soul
lay broken in a mess I cannot fix myself.
If I were to blow a final deep, aching breath
the shards would fly away like dust.

A single tear slides down my cheek,
like a match across my heart,
reminding me to feel—
reminding me of what I cannot lose.

It falls to the ground
reaching the dust of my brokenness.
And in the silence,
hands caked with the mud of humanity
reach for me,
His grip unafraid of the cold reality of what I am.

A low, loving murmur breaks the dead air,
a voice confident and sure,
"Now I have something to work with."

Copyright 2005 Jennifer Wagner


  1. 'reaching the dust of my brokenness.' Gorgeous line, Stunning poem!

  2. This is totally brilliant - and inspiring.

  3. Thank you Sherry-- this piece was written at a tough and pivotal point in my life. Your comment here really means a lot to me.


Thank you for your thoughts!