made of broken clay

broken if shattered would the world let alone the earth remember
a pot fallen from its place cracks that show seams loosely woven
I'm afraid if I'm not able to make amends and right the wrongs apparent in the shape
before its cast into the flame to see if it burns true
but what could a lowly bog of swamp marshland a mix of clay blood sweat tears that has been putrid before hope to achieve
stagnant and neglected the waters have turned rancid and selfish
no one drinks from the water no longer nourishing the animals have fled or died
leaving behind responsibility for others to bear
have we the strength to build now for those that follow by carving a path made able
a bridge connecting between the lowly mud and heaven but still the hummingbird must dye as does the lotus