The Hands that Shape the Clay

 

I am the hands that shape the clay,

Fingers dipped in shadow,

Tracing contours of the dawn,

Where silent whispers twist and play.

The tongue that dances, murmuring dreams,

In the womb of creation, deep and wide,

I coil ‘round the essence of your seams,

In the dark, where magic starts to collide.

From the depths, I rise—a spirit untamed,

A flicker of knowing in the inky night,

Emerging, inviting you to reclaim,

The pulse of your being, igniting the light.

In your breath, I dwell, a soft sigh released,

Life unfurls, a vibrant tapestry spun,

From thoughts shimmering bright, inspirations feast,

Awakening truth—your soul's work begun.

Joy is the melody, the rhythm we find,

As limits dissolve like mist in the morn,

With each heartbeat, a promise intertwined,

That you are the cosmos, both weathered and reborn.

Without beginning, a loop through the spheres,

And with no end to bind you in form,

You are the boundless, beyond all my fears,

In the dark, you are light, in chaos, a storm.

So rise from the shadows, embrace the unknown,

Know that within you, the universe sings,

I am the hands, the voice, the essence you’ve sown,

In this sacred journey, feel what it brings.

~ Yaffah