I am nothing more than a piece of art,

carefully sculpted by my maker.

I’ve been bent, twisted, battered and bruised,

in an attempt to impress a taker.

But for now I’m hanging on this wall,

patiently waiting to be chose.

While insecurity floods my mind,

and doubt consumes my soul.

Am I good enough? Is there something wrong?

Did my maker make a mistake?

Surely I should have been taken by now.

What will come of my fate?

These questions linger in the back of my mind,

I can’t seem to shake them free.

Maybe one day these chains will break,

until then I’m forced to believe.

I was made for a purpose! I was no mistake!

My maker knows just who I’m for.

So instead of impatiently awaiting my taker,

I can rest assured I’m adored.

Then through the window appears a child,

who’s face shows signs of defeat.

He opens the door and  cracks a smile,

at the moment our eyes finally meet.

A broken boy, an imperfect art,

a match that no one could dream,

But my maker knew long ago,

that me and this boy would make a great team.

It was all a part of His elaborate plan,

one that was perfect without a flaw.

Yet the only one questioning the makers skill,

was this simple piece of art on the wall.

If I just would have trusted that He knew best,

all my worries could have been gone.

And I wouldn’t have waisted countless hours,

worrying about takers already gone.

Categories: Poetry

Tags: Christianity, Faith, God, Jesus, poetry, spiritual warfare, Trust