Poem: “Broken House”


Broken House

Today I am convinced
that everything I do
has little value, Lord, to You,
to others, or myself. A vase
of many flaws, atop a shelf,
just waiting: 
I speak, but no one hears
the sound, and all around
the silence of myself – berating –
I wonder what will make me real?

Lord, take this vase and fill
me with Your Self. Or break me
in new patterns of Your will,
but let me not spill one drop of You.
Cast me not away, Lord.

Mary Harwell Sayler


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