Celestial Pitcher
He read through prayers and pleas, a lengthy roll.
From his celestial pitcher, free from guile,
He poured desires into each waiting soul.
Yet not all hearts were open to receive,
No space for miracles, for some, it seemed.
Envy and hate had barred their hearts so tight,
While greed forbade the flow of sweet delight.
In some, despair and sorrow overflowed,
A wretched plight that left God deeply slowed.
He yearned to pour out love, but where to start?
Their hearts concealed, impervious to his art.
With heavy heart, God watched as people failed
To cleanse their souls of wounds that long prevailed.
With time, their hearts grew hard, like granite stone,
Robbed of the warmth that once had brightly shone.
But still, God walked and smiled, a gentle gleam,
When hearts of lovers crossed his path, a dream.
He took his pitcher, pouring from his store,
Blessing their union with his tender lore.
Yet slowly, humans spilled the precious gift,
Blaming the world for losses they had swift.
They sought not fault within, but cast it wide,
Ignoring truths that lay deep inside.
If we could learn to pardon and believe,
To love, give thanks, and let our hearts relieve,
God's measure of contentment would not be,
A mere mere drop, but all his grace set free.
Today, God woke to dawn's ethereal light,
A box of prayers piled high before his sight.
Amidst the pleas, a single note, so rare,
'My thanks to you, dear God, beyond compare.'
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