new made old made new

I am a new born baby boy

Closed eyes soft wrinkled skin

I am a bright green baby leaf

Awaiting opening


I am a hand made Spanish bowl

Hot from the furnace flames

I am a woven flowing skirt

Undanced and yet untamed


I am a vase of glass blown thin

With colours to be proud

I am a drop of summer rain

Made from the purest cloud


I am a pure and sacred life

I’m made by hands of love

And yet I’m dirty, spoiled and torn

I’m bruised and hurt…  unloved


I am scratched and clothed in tasteless cloth

Eyes filled with hard desire

I am scorched and dull from blazing sun

Thoughts of tomorrow tire


I’m chipped and lain in darkened corner

Life never looked upon

I’m crumpled, used and soiled because

The life I chose to run


I am broken, useless without form

My splendid colour stained

I’m dirty, muddied, poisoned with

The sting of acid rain


I’m a hurt and feral broken beast

Because that’s what I chose

Why did I hurt this body new?

Was ignorant I suppose!


Who would spoil such beautied form

Such hope filled eagerness?

Who would destroy a birthday gift

A child’s new liveliness?


Who would deface and dent a car

Complete from showroom floor?

And who’d sit down to vile rot

Then stand and ask for more?


So why do I, on bended knee

Suppose to do the same?

Why then do I refuse to see

This dark and sordid game?


But who can stop this hated game

Of bringing self to ruin?

Ask who can turn the world apart

The axis it is screwing?


There’re ways to wash the vileness

And I have tried them all

Ways to escape the emptiness

On hands and knees I crawl


There’re times I can distract myself

From my condition horrid

There’s ways to cover up the hurt

Thick make-up for my forehead


There’re times I can convince myself

That all is not so bad

Then quickly I’m brought back to hurt

I’m not so easily had


So there I lie in loathsome grief

Brought on by my undoing

With distant thoughts of who I was

Now dejected.  No renewing


“Do you want to be renewed?” said one

So clearly in red ink

“Do you want to be made new?”

Without much time to think


“Of course” I said, into the dark

Not knowing who was there

I waited. Waited.  Was He gone?

Will I again yet dare?


“Please… help me”  whispering aloud

My brokenness in doubt

Again a silence, stillness till

I stood and looked about


My mind played tricks and yet was real

As real as I have known

A hope that I have never felt

Although no one had shown


As time passed on the hope was grown

Inside my broken shell

Although the scratches hurt from tears

No longer life was hell


Though skin was charred from scorching sun

I still enjoyed sunsets

The cracks became reminder marks

No longer grave regrets


When stain had bled into my clothes

My anger slowed to boil

And gradually then I could see

Beyond the mud and soil


A vase of scratches, chips and cracks

Still holds a perfect flower

A soiled woven crumpled skirt

Is danced with flowing power


And then one day I met the voice

Who asked me those fine words

“It was you!” I whispered to myself

He smiled as though He heard


My brokenness He did not see

But looked into my soul

And I could see that it was He

Who spoke and made me whole


With tenderness and gentle touch

Embraced my broken frame

And it was known between us both

The life from which I came


And it was known yet greater still

Although I’d known defeat

Renewed was I through His great words

And now I stood complete


I am a new born baby boy

Closed eyes soft wrinkled skin

I am a bright green baby leaf

For each day’s opening


I am a hand made Spanish bowl

Admired and acclaimed

I am a woven flowing skirt

Now danced and unashamed


I am a vase of glass blown thin

New colours to be proud

I am a drop of summer rain

Sent from the purest cloud


I am a pure and sacred life

One made by hands above

I am a soul renewed of hope

And now deeply in love



2 thoughts on “new made old made new

  1. Wow…what a great story!

    You may not have noticed, but once your life changed (starting at “As time grew on”) it became more fluid; almost melodious. To me, that was very significant for the poem. It was a significant and symbolic shift in the poem just as your life changed significantly. Beautiful….true artist create beautiful things without realizing it at times. I think you’ve done this.

    Very similar to my style of writing….my only suggestion would be to stay consistent with capitol letters. For example, you used “He” rather than “he”…but in other areas you could have used a capitol letter when referring to Him….such as when you refer to “one” who speaks through red ink (I believe paragraph 5).

    (Personally now): I think posting this poem is a turning point for you. You starting writing more of these experiences, and I see a mantle of annointing come onto you. You are/will be a great teacher through your writing…

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