Unfinished

Unfinished
That’s what I am.
A half shaped piece of clay
In the Potter’s Hands

Unfinished.
Like the symphony.
My body working out its melody.
What part takes lead and who claims bass?
These are things the young must face.

Unfinished.
Like a painting.
Each layer and stroke
Revealing a new and grateful hope.

Unfinished.
Yes, but not left alone, abandoned
To work out life on my own.

Unfinished.
Fresh in my Potter’s Hands I am;
Pliable in consistency.
Oh how comforting to the unsure soul,
That He is not done with me!



by C. U.
Copyright May 12, 2006