Raku
Choosing to love him was not my choice
The fire broke everything I believed I controlled
The air that surrounded me disappeared
I was left to smother in the coals
Formed, I was. Treated as mere thick clay
Never giving my consent, only shown the end
Told, more than asked. I was led, I was worked
Milled and shaped, pounded even, hardened
Why me God? I beg to know Your mind
Why should I continue rolling in searing flame
To become the pot, the vase, the urn?
Will You use me then? Will I hold? Embrace?
You are the Potter. I am your clay. I know this
You choose, I listen. You will, I bow
The prayers, the time, the years, the faith
I understand You’ve planned, I follow
Until the last pyre I remain incomplete
Knowing there will be blessings, I agree
Knowing he needs me to continue
To lift his soul through the pain of my own firing
You are the Potter. I am your clay.
My destined colors will forge with time
Your strength is given in my making
I am who You have decided to create
If my mission is to pray, I bow my head
Your command is well within my power
Power given by the One and accepted in whole
Raku me. To be the vessel You desire
Jude Stringfellow
April 9 2022
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