My hands are strong.
I knead the clay, making sure there are no trapped pockets of air that could ruin my creation.
As I work, the clay takes on its own life and I become the pawn..
Pushing here pulling there..scraping and forming what the clay wants to be.
I know now how man came to be.
With a creator that allowed the creation to become what it wanted to be.
I am here to continue the process
I became..To be the sculptor
With the sculpture speaking through me.
The circle becomes complete.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
My hands are strong.
I knead the clay, making sure there are no trapped pockets of air that could ruin my creation.
As I work, the clay takes on its own life and I become the pawn..
Pushing here pulling there..scraping and forming what the clay wants to be.
I know now how man came to be.
With a creator that allowed the creation to become what it wanted to be.
I am here to continue the process
I became..To be the sculptor
With the sculpture speaking through me.
The circle becomes complete.
Request permission to use this poem