Broken at His Feet

I wish I could take it all away

And bottle it up in jars of clay,

All the tears And all the pain,

Stored away on the top shelf,

Out of reach from human hands,

Or felt by human hearts,

But what these jars contain

Is much more than what we think,

And would be wasted If left sitting on the shelf,

We carry them with us,

We carry them in us,

Always for a higher purpose

Than what our teary eyes can see,

Broken before a King,

All the content falling apart Before

His feet.

-t.r.p.

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