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.
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