Dear Mr. God

The clay in the potter’s hand is damaged,
But if you called me home right now,
I’ll ask for these,

Pat me on my back and tell me I did my best,
I wasn’t given a manual to manoeuvre with,
I had to figure it out on my own.

Did I make you proud?
Tell me I did,
It won’t be a lie,
Because you only know truth,
And you know, that with all my flaws,
I tried.

Open your arms to me, Father,
And embrace me,
Teach me how to let go of all this heaviness,
Allow me to heal with you, at home.

Confirm to me that I did leave the world better,
That being good with a blend of evil was my choice,
Just a vessel recreating itself according to the world.

I picked up hurt along the way, and hurt others too,
Knowingly and unintentionally,
Tell me that I’ll be pardoned.

Look at me with your gracious eyes,
Show me what pure and real love is,
For in the world, genuineness and grace are adamant.

Father, in the eyes of men I shouldn’t tell you what I need,
But in your eyes, we’re all your children,
Accord me these, and allow me real, true, rest.