I felt like a clay pot

once from the earth

Born with spirit, soul cropped

The owners; my guardians, held me

They allowed me to be used

for my true purposes,

not as a pot but a holder of life;

Extraordinary.

Later, others wanted me to be a pot for use

To look and act like other pots 

Or my uniqueness challenged their sameness 

So I became like them, soul lost.

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Since I cannot sense a name for God

power will stutter out of my mouth

In the old days it was the Village Church

Rich with Stain Glass Hypocrisy and Sin

In the middle it was a wasteland, dead

Then I saw God and everything changed

Spirit stood on my shoulder and held me

Angels came in plain clothes to erase me

No-one left even though I tried to kill me

In the attire ...

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