The Wave

What the ocean waves do to shells makes me think of God's gentle "molding" of "our" clay spirits.

Crushed, bleached, and smooth as ice

tiny pebbles of the sea

are clasped

then tossed like dice.

 

Shiny baubles of the deep,

pale as Winter woe,

lined up in a row,

are polished 'til they glow.

 

So, too, our spirits, turned inside out,

tossed to and 'fro by the wave

of God's desire,

bring us day by day,

into the joy and ecstasy,

rough edges worn away.

Author's Note

We are all on the "Potter's Wheel", and His clay creations. Read it fast and don't meander over the correct "poetic" form, for you will find none.