The Creator doesn’t know rest,
like before, He’s squeezing moist clay,
and the clay, crushed, crumpled, folded, pressed,
choses to resist or to obey.
Naked souls in His wise hands
ultimately later get transformed
in accordance to divine plans
to whatever satisfying form.
God alone knows when and why,
God alone knows where and how,
and the clay is learning to comply,
hearing His voice, learns to bow.
God is watching still, with rolled-up sleeves,
over our lives day and night.
In the fire clay its strength receives,
no longer stubborn and contrite.
No longer obstinate and proud,
tested, tried, even burned by grief,
with the Spirit of the Lord endowed,
knowing that suffering is brief.
In the kiln it loses all its dross,
all desires that would lead to sin,
it accepts the former wishes’ loss
when it gets new qualities within.
In God’s hands a soul recuperates
in accordance to the Lord's designs.
In His own image God creates,
if a soul its own will resigns.
16.04.2019